


Going Home

by halestrom



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Future Fic, M/M, Post-War, Pre-War, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-01
Updated: 2013-04-01
Packaged: 2017-12-07 03:19:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/743584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halestrom/pseuds/halestrom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A desperate attack sends Draco to a place he could never imagine, and he embarks on a journey he never thought possible. .</p>
            </blockquote>





	Going Home

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the 2007 round of hd_holidays on livejournal.

**Part 1;**

Draco could hear cheering in the distance and he turned, his eyes catching sight of the flashes of colours shooting over the sky, each of them an individual spell with a different target. He could see them easily against the darkening background, the tall spires of the trees around them blending into the background more and more as time passed. 

He frowned, unable to tell which side was cheering, and his feet began to pace themselves on in front of another, moving closer and closer to where he knew the open field lay.

He remembered the field as it had been when he had gone to scope it out for a potential battle sight. The grass had been vibrant and dotted with a myriad of flowers that shone with each colour of the rainbow; around the edges stood the dark oppressive trees of the end of the Forbidden Forest and the beginning of the Forest of Mysts. It had been the perfect place, away from large crowds, and Muggles. Now, he could easily imagine blood staining the ground and grass red and bodies piling up, blocking the trees from the sight of the dying and injured. 

He could imagine the faerie circle, that perfect ring of mushrooms, off to one side of the field. No longer a place of healing and intrigue, now a place of oppressive magic and a wish for something more, a wish to not have seen what the faeries saw that day. 

He took another step forward, but stopped. He had promised, he had promised that he would remain here, away from battle, a scout of sorts so that his love could fight without worry. He had hated it of course, hated seeing his bonded go off to battle while they forced him to remain here, away from anything that could hurt him. He wanted to fight; he wanted to help, if only to stand at a distance and throw spells to protect those who were his friends and family. 

The war had started when he was seventeen and now he was thirty, and it was hopefully the last battle between his own side and the other side. He turned, a hand coming up to run through his hair, pushing the silky locks off his face and wishing it was his lover's hand combing through his hair. He looked towards the trees, to where he knew the field lay, his silver eyes filled with worry as his hands twisted around each other, needing some sort of reassurance, but none forthcoming. 

He heard a yell and he turned, his wand held tightly in one hand, another holding a gun by his side, finger pressed against the safety button. He could see a figure coming closer and he tensed, prepared to strike if necessary. He shifted, his feet separating, every muscle in his body screaming for him to attack, that they were the enemy, but he held off, knowing that he could duck and defend with the space between them if necessary. He saw the person come closer. He felt his heart move up to his throat, forming an impenetrable lump, making it harder and harder for him to breath, to swallow and he did not know what he was going to do. He needed to know who was coming, whether it was friend or foe, whether or not they had lost the battle. 

The unknown person took one more step, coming into the fading light and he felt like sobbing with relief as he took in the messy black hair of his lover. Putting the gun back into its holster and sliding the wand into his pocket before stepping forward and then suddenly stopping. His legs were unable to move. All he could do was watch as his lover came closer, his vibrant green eyes and tanned skin becoming visible, along with cuts and bruises that decorated his face and neck. 

“Harry,” he breathed his lover's name from between his lips. He felt a sob threaten to overwhelm him and he raised a hand, covering his mouth, stopping it from expelling into the air as his lover stopped two steps away from him and he was able to take in his lover's appearance. His Auror robes were torn and muddy. He could see gashes covering his lover’s skin through the robes, and he swallowed, guilt forming like a bludger to the stomach, making him feel hollow with the knowledge that he could have prevented them if he had been there to help. However, he forced that lump down with the memory that it was not his choice. 

He trailed his gaze up until he met the joyous, vibrant green eyes of his lover and he cleared his throat. “Did you do it?” he asked fearfully, his voice husky with worry. 

The words hung between them, breaking the silence. He felt fear creep into his belly and settle there, like a demon in disguise, as no words were forthcoming and the silence began to press against him. He could see this lover worrying his bottom lip and he swallowed, eyes wide, not sure if he could take the oppressive silence any longer. It had been too long to wait any longer; he needed to know if the war was finished, or if it was going to continue. 

Suddenly, he could see a small smile begin to spread across those ruby red lips and he felt some weight leave his shoulders, but he remained hunched. Then slowly, the world seemed to become bright as his lover nodded and he was stunned into silence for a moment before a grin broke out onto his own features. His arm reached forward and grabbed his lover around the shoulders bringing the worn man against his body and kissing him, pouring his _lovejoylovelovejoy_ into the man’s mouth. He felt hands tangle in his hair and tug and for once, he did not yell, he accepted it, too filled with joy and appreciation to do anything but pull his dark hair loved closer against him, tilting his head to the side, their mouths fitting together like a puzzle piece. Lust curled deep within his stomach, chasing away the demon and he felt laughter bubbling up inside of him. 

He tore his mouth away as laughter erupted from his throat. He wrapped his arms around his stockier lover and picked him up, somehow twirling the both of them around and around. The hands in his hair moved and wrapped around his neck, holding on tight as the musical laughter of the man in his arms joined his and filled the air around them, chasing away all the pain and sadness they had dealt with for the past thirteen years. 

He set the other man down but held tight onto him, unable to let go. He let out a loud sound of excitement as laughter continued to bubble up, making him slightly hysterical. He could feel tears beginning to form in his eyes and he hiccupped, burying his face in his lover’s neck. Arms came up to wrap around his shoulders, holding him tightly as tears and attempts to hold the sobs in replaced the laughter. 

“It’s over, it’s over,” he whispered repeatedly, his words muffled in the lover's neck. 

The arms around his shoulders tightened around his back. “I know, Alex, I know.”

He smiled at the mention of his nickname and took a deep shuddering breath. He turned his head to the side, pressing his lips against the scar that wound its way around his husband’s neck, the remains of an old assassination attempt. “We can live, Robin. We can sleep and eat and not have to worry.”

He felt, rather than saw, the smile that slid over his lover’s lips and he smiled as well, the tears still leaking out of his eyes. He was unsure of how to feel; happiness was bubbling though his veins, and tears of relief were soothing the wounds caused by a war that had lasted too long. 

He swallowed as another lump began to rise in his throat. A sudden thought penetrated his happy thoughts and a dark glow began to come over him. “Who … die-didn’t make it?” he asked slowly. 

He felt the slight flinch of the man in his arm. “I don’t know. All I know is that I had to get back to you as soon as possible. As soon as Tom was dead, I ran here.”

“We should get back. You said I can’t help with the battle, but I’ll be damned if I don’t help with the clean up, alright?” he asked. 

Harry nodded and smiled at him. “Come on, then, they’re probably thinking I’m dead or something.”

Draco pulled up short, looking at his partner. “You didn’t tell them you were coming to get me?”

“No, I just sort of left. I had this irrational fear that you had been injured,” Harry replied. 

“Do you still have that feeling?” Draco asked. 

Harry looked thoughtful for a moment before nodding his head. “Slightly yeah, but it might just be left over nerves or something.”

Draco smiled and nodded. “Of course it is. Who would be stupid enough to attack me?”

Harry grinned and rolled his eyes at him and he smiled back, trying to push down the feeling of unease that settled in his stomach. Harry had always seemed to have a gut feeling when something was going to go wrong, and usually he was right. He surreptitiously tightened his hand on his wand and swallowed. 

Harry leaned up to kiss him out of the blue and he stopped, kissing Harry back, reveling in the side of lips, glad he once more had the chance to do this. Breaking the kiss, Draco indulged in a rare moment of sentimentality and kissed Harry’s nose, grinning when Harry scrunched up his nose. “You’re cute, you know that?” he murmured. 

Harry pouted. “I am a thirty-year-old war hero, I am not cute. I am handsome, devilish and rugged.”

“You’re adorable,” Draco reiterated. 

Harry rolled his eyes. “So are you,” he countered. 

Draco just smiled. “I know.”

He pulled back with a quick kiss to Harry’s lips and they began to walk away, moving quickly. They could hear the sounds of the end of the battle coming closer, the cries of the sick and dying, and the loud hungry cries of the vultures that soared overhead. He could smell the coppery tang of blood that had been the day drying in the warm August sun. It filled his nose and lingered there, never leaving even as it mixed with the smell of singed hair and burning skin. He swallowed down the bile at his first sight of the bodies on the ground, waiting to be taken to the morgue and identified.

He turned and looked the other way and immediately wished he hadn’t when he caught sight of Dean Thomas’s mutilated body. Half of his face was missing, blasted away, the brains leaking out onto the red grass. His stomach and bowels had been slashed open, leaving his internal organs to cook in the sun with a heavy smell of defecation. He gagged and closed his eyes, placing his hand over his mouth, breathing through the sleeve, unable to take much. It was amazing how he could handle all of this in battle, the sight of blood and internal organs and brain matter not bothering him in the least, and then once it was over, it was like a switch had been flipped and he could no longer handle it. 

He felt the hand in his tighten and he turned to look at Harry who was watching him worriedly. He shook his head and took another deep breath, steeling himself for whatever else was to come. He was going to help with the clean up, one way or another. Removing his hand, he managed a weak smile at Harry. “I’m fine, just the smell,” he whispered, unable to speak loudly for fear of waking the dead. 

Harry nodded and didn’t say anymore.

He stepped closer, aligning his side with Harry’s. He knew it was hard to walk like this but he wanted the extra comfort that came with it. They came closer to the middle of the field, closer to where an ominous cloud of smoke was rising, the exact colour of the killing curse and Harry’s eyes. It was here he saw more destruction, more people he knew, laying there, their dead eyes open and pleading with him for some release, some dignity for their bodies that were swelling and burning in the dying sunlight and summer heat. 

He turned his head away at the sight of his father laying there, the skin along his arms blistered and burst, puss running down his arms, his spine visible through a cut in his neck, his blood around him, staining his hair red, the colour of blood traitors. 

“Are you alright?” he heard Harry ask again and he turned and smiled, reassuring his partner. 

“I’m fine.”

Harry looked at him for a while longer, the two of them standing in the dusk and staring, ignoring the cries of pain and pleas for help around them. Draco broke the staring contest first, turning away and beginning to walk, dragging Harry with him. They walked in silence for a little while, eventually coming to the middle of the field. He stopped for a moment, staring at the back of his Aunt's body, one arm reaching out in post mortem stiffness towards her lord. He swallowed and looked away, not feeling anything except a sense of accomplishment that the one who had killed his mother was dead. It was here Voldemort laid, his corpse emitting the bright green smoke, his robes ripped and torn, showing the serpentine body. He stepped closer, a hand rising as if to touch, but the mark on his arm burned slightly and he pulled it back. 

He could feel his heartbeat begin to speed up, his pulse throbbing in his ear as he swallowed down whatever was rising in this throat. Bile, a cry of elation, he wasn’t sure. He didn’t know what to feel. He was numb, numb from everything except shock and disbelief. It had seemed so easy when he was younger. Follow his father and rule the world, but that had died and here he was, thirteen years later, a hardened warrior and lover, for over nine years, to the savior of the world. He felt dizzy and he turned, his arms wrapping around Harry’s neck, his legs finally giving out. He felt the strong arms wrap around his neck and hold him up as he let out a strangled cry of relief, echoing into Harry’s neck and around them. 

He didn’t know how long he stood there, holding Harry, crying in relief. He stood back eventually, wiping his eyes, noticing that the darkness had finally fallen and hundreds of globes lit the air around them, sending the already grotesque figures into darkness, hiding their suffering from view, and lighting up their features, making it look as if they were sleeping in a field under the stars. 

“You ok?” Harry asked again. 

Draco nodded. “Fine. I feel fine.” 

And it was true, he felt fine, better than he had. He glanced around, seeing that their friends and family had ringed them subtly, hiding his breakdown from the view of others. He felt grateful and he smiled softly, letting them know he was ok and then they dared to approach. He felt a hand press down on his shoulder and he turned to look into the heavily scarred visage of Ron, courtesy of his first true heroic deed, running into the Burrow while it was under fire and saving his older brother who had passed out from the fumes. His entire right side was covered in white scars and his face was a myriad of white, clear skin and freckled skin. He was grotesque looking to people who didn’t know him, but to those he did, he looked as if he was no different from Draco or Harry. 

“How are you hanging?” Ron asked. 

“Fine, just the smell. Have you talked to Hermione?” he replied. 

Ron nodded. “She’s fine, the kids are fine, all of them. They never got that far.”

Draco nodded, glad. The loss of Hogwarts early on in the war had been a dangerous thing, and it had been even more dangerous when they had gotten it back, the floor plan changed and no clue of where anything was, or what else had been added to the building. Who knew what pathways had been created in their seven-year absence? “How’s her leg?” 

“It’s good. She still can’t walk fast and doesn't have much feeling, but it’s getting there. She says it feels like stepping through a hole in the ground with each step.”

Draco nodded again but jumped when a cry permeated the air. He spun instantly, looking for the source of whatever the noise was. He couldn’t see anything and his pulse began to race, adrenaline filling his body as he looked for the source of discomfort. He flinched when he felt a hand on his lower back and he turned, seeing Harry pointing to one of the vultures that had alighted on a pile of the dead. He relaxed, his muscles trembling with the aftershocks of the adrenaline. He smiled sheepishly at Harry who was frowning in consternation at him. 

“Sorry, just a little jumpy right now,” he said. He didn’t mention the fact that it was Harry’s words of earlier discord that provoked his uneasiness. 

“Malfoy, mate, you’re never jumpy. What’s wrong?” Ron asked with a frown, his hand moving to rest on his wand as his blue eyes darted around the battlefield. 

“I don’t know,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. He felt out of sorts, like something important was supposed to happen and it wasn’t, he felt-

“ _Sectumsempra!_ ”

\--pain exploding over his chest and throughout his body, his nerves screaming as he watched a red light sink into his skin and begin to pour over the hands that had come up to clutch at his chest and stomach. He could hear yelling, and he could feel arms holding him up as his legs gave out. He could see the sky and the tree line recede as he felt himself lowered to the ground, a pair of hands moving to cover his own, holding everything inside of him, even as blood slipped through the gaps. He coughed something red and bright, spraying out in front of him, falling, drifting away. He was leaning against a body and he realised it was Harry’s, but then a voice yelled in his year and he flinched reflexively and pain shot through him again and he cried out, something dribbling down his chin. 

He forced his eyes open, staring into the worried face of Ron who was talking fast. But he couldn’t hear anything, all he could do was allow himself to be immersed into the sense of calm that was overtaking him. He could see his name forming on Ron’s lips, right before a gust of air hit his face and he was moving, arms holding him around his back and under his legs. His head flopped back and, in an instant, sound rushed in around him and he could hear words yelled around him, a Healer needed, now and the sound of fear in the demand. His felt his head being moved and he could now see the underside of Harry’s chin and he raised a hand, wanting to run a hand over those lips, he loved, pressed against his body. 

He heard a sound and he turned his head, trying to go towards that melodic voice he knew so well. His head flopped back and he coughed against, liquid – which he now knew was blood – dribbling down his chin. He strained, trying to hear whatever Harry was saying. 

“Come back to me, please, come back to me.”

Over and over it was whispered in his ear and he frowned, his mind too muggy to do anything. He heard a voice to his right, he vainly tried to turn, and then he was falling, voices yelling around him, he could hear Harry under all of it, whispering to come back to him. He hit the ground, pain running through his body and then there was silence and darkness. 

**Part 2;**

Draco’s eyes opened, squinting as the harsh light assaulted his eyes. He could hear people talking around him and he swallowed, attempting to sit up, but a hand on his shoulder pushed him back down. 

“Stay down, Mr Malfoy,” a voice said. A voice that was too familiar and too long unheard for him to listen to the instructions. 

He frowned, sitting up, eyes suddenly wide, ignoring the pulling feeling in his stomach and chest as he blinked and saw Poppy Pomfrey standing there, hands on hips and the familiar disapproving frown. Everything else in the room seemed to freeze and stop as he ignored the other people around him. His mouth dropped open slightly, shock entering his body, amazed at seeing the lady who had given her life force to save Harry once, standing there whole and alive. He was moving before he knew what was happening, wrapping her in his arms, holding her close. He had never known her, knowing that she had died before he was close with Harry; she had died before he had even switched sides. He had aged, knowing her stories and wishing he had been nicer to her when he was in the hospital. He felt her stiffen in his arms for a moment before he felt a comforting pat on his shoulder. He released her then, feeling slightly foolish, but glad that he had had the chance to thank her, in his own silent and confusing way. 

“Although I am not sure of the reason for the hug, Mr Malfoy, thank you. However, I am going to have to ask you to sit down so that I can check you over once more,” the nurse said. 

Draco nodded and climbed back up onto the bed, frowning as he looked down at his arms and saw pale unblemished skin. It was then what he had done, and what had happened, sunk in and his frown deepened as he lifted his arms, looking at them, wanting to know what had happened. He was missing the tattoos he had gotten when he was twenty-one, twenty-three and twenty-nine respectively, as well as the constant stain of the dark mark. He turned his hand over, looking at his palm, looking for the ‘T’ that had been burned into his skin when he had been found to be a traitor. He knew without looking that the mark on his shoulder blade, the one that told the world he was loyal to the Order, was gone as well. 

“Am I dead?” he muttered to himself, unaware of the happenings around him. 

“No, Mr Malfoy, you were simply unconscious when we found you outside. And for no apparent reason,” another voice said, this one warm and inviting and supposed to be dead as well. He looked up and saw Albus Dumbledore standing there, with Remus Lupin and Severus Snape behind him, all of them looking at him in confusion and, in Severus’s case, with mistrust. 

“Are you sure?” he asked. He could remember pain and blood and screaming and then there was nothing. He could hear a voice telling him to come back and he was sure it was Harry’s. 

“We are. You were found over a month ago, outside of the Forbidden Forest, near the Forest of Mysts by Hagrid. However, the troubling thing is that Severus saw Draco Malfoy only three days ago,” Albus continued. 

Draco frowned. There was no way anything of this magnitude could’ve happened, unless they had… He shook his head, wanting to clear it; they wouldn’t have thrown him into the circle. It was too unstable; he could’ve ended up in the Stone Ages, or a thousand years into the future. But then, he remembered Harry, telling him to come back, come back to him and he swallowed. They had. 

“Perhaps there is something you would like to tell us Mr Malfoy? If you are, indeed, him,” Albus said.

“What year is it?” he asked, although he had a good idea of what year it was. 

“1997,” Albus said, confirming his suspicions. 

“Oh,” he murmured as his brain began to work, thinking of what to do, to explain. 

“Well?” the ever-impatient Snape asked. 

“I am Draco Malfoy, just not the one … you know,” he said, haltingly, trying to process his words before he spoke, not wanting to slip up. The lecture he had got from Moody on the dangers of time travel were at the forefront of his mind. “I’m thirty. The year is supposed to be 2010, the war had just finished, and I was helping with the clean-up. One of the other side’s fighters wasn’t dead and got me with a curse and there was a Faerie ring [1] and they threw me into it.”

The room was silent after that and he sat a little straighter, feeling a little better, a little more like himself. He was a Malfoy, he could, and he would, handle this. He ran a hand through his hair, a little confused when his hand came to the end of his hair a lot quicker than it should’ve. Then he remembered he had kept his hair short during this time and had only grown it out in a need to prove he was like his father, and could be trusted by the dark lord. 

“Well, Mr Malfoy, that is certainly a good story, but how can we trust you? You must understand that I am in a bind here. We are at war, and there is no way to tell if you are telling me the truth,” Albus said. 

Draco frowned. “Well, I would suggest Veritaserum, but you can lie on that, so I have no clue how to get you to trust me.”

“You can’t lie when you are doused,” Remus said. 

“Yes, you can. The potion forces the person to tell the truth, however, it cannot take into account what would happen if the person thought what they were saying was, in fact, the truth,” Draco replied absently as an idea came into his mind. 

“What’s the date today?” he asked. 

“August 2nd,” Albus replied. 

“The World Cup was today and the Harpies won against Ireland, 360 to 10, but then, yesterday, it was found out that the game was fixed. A rematch is being held today between England and Bulgaria, this time with added protections to ensure that it doesn’t happen again. Krum will catch the snitch in the first minute,” Draco replied, remembering the game with ease as it had been his father who had helped fix the match.

“What does this prove?” Severus asked. 

“I’ve been asleep, how would I know that otherwise? And how would I know that Krum is going to catch the Snitch so quickly?” Draco asked back. 

He could see Albus looking at him with a thoughtful look before finally the old man nodded. “It is not the greatest of proof, but it shall be enough. Now, what to do with you?”

“Can I get a time turner?” he asked, a shred of hope entering into his heart. 

Albus shook his head, killing the hope. “No, they were destroyed during the Ministry fiasco two years ago. The planetary alignment that creates that sand will not occur for another ten years.”

Draco collapsed back onto the pillows, faced with the prospect of living without Harry. “What can I do?”

“I do not know. There is no way to time travel except by those turners. The only thing I can think of is to live and hopefully regain your life back.”

Draco snorted. “Yeah, right. I’ll be 43 and everyone else will be thirty, which will be brilliant.”

“Mr Malfoy, I am not sure if you have noticed, or have forgotten, but you are the exact same age as you are supposed to be. You look seventeen,” Remus said.

Draco blinked. He had forgotten in the light of things. He bit his bottom lip, wondering if it was worth it, going through thirteen years of watching Harry from a distance as his younger self fell in love. He could take his younger self places when he disappeared, but he would've changed so much by then, he was sure it was going to be pointless. “What am I going to do until then?” he asked more to himself. 

“I do not know. We cannot allow you to continue to stay as you are, a disguise is necessary. And I take it from the way you don’t seem to want to hurt any of us, you are in fact, a member of the Order, correct?”

Draco nodded. “Yes,” he said. pausing for a moment as a thought came into his mind. “Is Professor D’Arcangelo here?”

“Who?” Albus asked. 

“Alejandro Santiago D’Arcangelo, the Professor in charge of the Muggle Defense class,” Draco said slowly. 

Albus frowned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Draco frowned and looked at Severus, and then Remus, looking for some kind of recognition. “He’s a tall Hispanic-looking man, English, intelligent and an arsehole?”

“I am sorry to say, Mr Malfoy that we do not know of anyone like that. Why do you ask?” Albus asked. 

“I was going to suggest that I could help him. That class was helpful for me, got me ready for the war in some aspects, and he’s from the future, so he might know something to help me,” Draco murmured. 

The room was silent for a moment and he looked up to see Severus frowning in thought, Remus looking at him oddly, and Albus looking at him, his blue eyes twinkling with a mischievousness Draco missed, and at the same time wished he would never see again. 

“Perhaps my boy, you were meant to be this D’Arcangelo fellow. Fate has an interesting way of ensuring the world's survival,” Albus said, his voice a little overjoyed.

Draco’s face smoothed over, as blank as a mannequin, as he stared impassively at the Headmaster. Some part of him knew this could possibly be true, but the other part of him didn’t want to believe it. Professor D’Arcangelo had been good, but he had been mean, ruthless and wasn’t beyond working them to the bone. It was also highly rumored he was dead; he had disappeared one day and hadn’t been seen, or heard from, since. 

“Mr Malfoy?” Albus asked, voice seemingly hesitant. 

Draco snapped out of his stupor and looked up at the Headmaster. “I can do it,” he replied. He figured there was nothing to lose. He moved to stand up, grimacing at how weak his body felt. He had never been bulky, like Harry or Ron, but he had been in shape and from the looks of it, he had a lot to do before the classes started. 

“Brilliant, I am going to take it you shall be going by Alejandro Santiago D’Arcangelo?” Albus said, blue eyes twinkling madly in his glee. 

Draco nodded, still deep in thought, attempting to remember what the man had looked like. He had been tall, a few inches taller than he was, but he was sure he could get a growth potion from Snape. His skin had been a lot darker, as had his hair and eyes; some dye, contacts and a fake tan would help with that. If he could remember correctly, the Professor's face actually looked like his father's. He remembered their first class and realised he had many things to do. 

“What do you need Mr Mal-D’Arcangelo?” Albus said, seemingly catching himself. 

Draco chewed his bottom lip. “A large classroom, the rest I can conjure. Was my wand with me?” he asked in a vain hope. 

Albus nodded. “Yes, as well as those strange clothes you were wearing.”

Draco perked up; if his uniform had survived then this was a good thing. It meant he wouldn’t have to try to explain to the kids, he would be able to do it fine. He looked up into the eyes of the three Professors and managed a slightly scared smile. “Just those, and please, call me Alejandro from now on, so I can get used to it.”

**Part 3;**

Draco sat at the head table, his eyes sweeping over the groups of students pouring into the Great Hall. So many of the faces he knew, so many of them he had seen destroyed and damaged beyond repair. They looked so young, so carefree, so innocent, it was hard to believe that these people, in a few short years, were going to become hardened killers and the line between light and dark would blur into a gray haze. He looked over at the Gryffindor table seeing Harry, Hermione and Ron sitting there, laughing at something and looking so carefree. There were no burn marks on Ron’s face, no scar around Harry’s neck and down across his eye, no claw marks marring Hermione’s plain, but at the same time beautiful, face. 

He turned his head away, the pain a little too much to bear and slid his gaze down, towards where Neville, Seamus and Dean sat, all dead, all Heroes who would never know the chance to love each other fully. He remembered the shock that ensued when they found out the three of them had been sleeping together for almost two years. He moved his eyes away from the Gryffindor table, sliding down towards the Slytherin table where he sat. He frowned at himself, feeling a little odd. He looked calm and collected, but he knew he wasn’t feeling like that. He was twisting his hands into his robes, a sure sign he was nervous and he smiled a little in amusement at himself. He remembered what today was. It was supposed to be the day he declared his intention to join the light side, only he'd chickened out and forgot about it. 

He could hear Albus speaking and he tuned it out, closing his eyes in meditation as he waited for the first-years to get sorted. He didn’t want to see their faces, knowing what would happen to them in a few short weeks. He couldn’t bear it. He could hear the clapping of the students as names were called, followed by their house. Eventually, they came to the end of the scroll and Draco retuned back in, opening his eyes and looking blandly around at the students. He saw a few people looking at him and he turned his head, looking at Albus before he could make eye contact with anyone. 

“Welcome students to another year at Hogwarts. As you know, the war has started and as such there will be a few precautions put into place. Students shall not be allowed to go to Hogsmeade at all this year. I know, I am sorry,” Albus began as people groaned. “Secondly, the Forbidden Forest is named such, and if any teachers find you there, or anywhere in the vicinity, you shall be spending the rest of the year in detention with Professor Snape or Mr Filch. Thirdly, no one, I repeat, no one, is allowed outside after Curfew, nor are they allowed to wander the corridors.”

Albus continued, outlining things they were not allowed to do, and Draco could remember with ease the annoyance he had felt when his ability to wander grew shorter. He tuned back into Albus as he realised the man was getting ready for his speech. 

“This year, we are graced with a miracle. We have a visitor from the future, the year 2010 to be exact. He shall be one of your new teachers. The class is Muggle Defense, and I welcome your new Professor, Alejandro Santiago D’Arcangelo. Please welcome him as he explains the class schedule.”

Albus conceded the floor to Draco amidst polite clapping as he stood. He took a deep breath as all eyes swung towards him and looked at him intently. He stood there for a moment, staring impassively around at every one, daring them to say something. 

“I am Professor D’Arcangelo, and from hence on, that is what you are going to call me. This class is required for all Seventh Years, and those sixth years who wish to participate. Those sixth years will be required to attend class if they sign up. It is not a pick and choose basis,” he began slowly. “The class will meet nine times a week, and all classes are mandatory. Seven of the classes will be held from five to six thirty in the morning, in which you shall meet me at the Quidditch pitch, dressed to exercise, no questions asked. The other three will be Monday, Wednesday and Friday from one thirty to three thirty.” He paused, allowing the gasps of annoyance and outrage to settle before continuing. “If you do not show to any of the classes, you will be spending the following month helping Hagrid clean out the waste the Threstals leave in the stables. I expect everyone to be there, on time, no questions or excuses.”

He sat down and ignored the looks the other teachers gave him as well as the gazes of the students filled with hate and anger at having to get up ao soon. He wanted to relent in the face of such innocence, but he knew he had to stay strong. It was the only way to do this. 

**Part 4;**

Draco rolled over with a groan, his arm shooting out to hit the button, turning off the alarm. He stared at the merrily bleeping four thirty on the clock and sighed. He should be used to early mornings by now. He had been waking up at five for the past thirteen years, and it never seemed to be easy. Even on the days he had had off, he could sleep no later than seven in the morning and it would usually make him feel groggy and tired for the rest of the day. It was a lose-lose situation. 

He rolled over, feet moving to the carpeted floor. He sat there for a moment wrapped in the blankets and staring blearily at the wall before yawning, his arms moving out of their warm cocoon and stretching up overhead, his back groaning with the movements for a moment before he heard the satisfying crack. He dropped his arms back down and allowed himself a moment of memories, remembering when Harry would wake up a few moments after him and sit up, legs on either side of Draco’s body and kisses would be placed on his neck. They would remain like that for a few moments talking about inane stuff before they would kiss and be on their way. 

They had always talked about what they would do when the war was over. They weren’t going to travel like they had wanted to when they were younger. Both of them just wanted to settle down in a house and live lazily for the rest of their lives. They were going to live in a large house with five rooms and five bathrooms and a huge backyard. In Italy or Spain or somewhere where no one had ever heard of them. They were going to spend five years eating, settling in, calming down and having as much sex as they could. 

After those first few years, they were going to adopt some of the war orphans, making sure to give them the upbringing they never had, with love and laughter and candy. They were going to grow old, see grandchildren and great-grandchildren and sit on the porch reminiscing about the ‘old days’ and die the same night wrapped in each other arms. 

A pang shot through his heart as he realised exactly how close the two of them had been to that dream. He closed his eyes as he fought back the tears that threatened to overflow. 

It took a moment before he calmed himself down and keeping his eyes closed, he pictured Harry’s strong face in his mind, breaking into a smile when a piece of good news would come their way. With that picture firmly in mind, he stood up, the blankets dropping back down to the bed and he began to get ready for the day. 

**Part 5;**

Draco stood, hands on his hips as he looked out over the students who were stumbling down from the castle to stand on the pitch, eyes half closed and yawns crossing their faces. He could see people staring at him with undisguised hatred and he knew what was going to happen. Professor D’Arcangelo had been hated more than Severus had been. It was his job to train these versions of the people he knew, enough so they could survive as long as they could. 

He waited until it seemed most everyone was here before moving his hips, hands in front of him as he held out the clipboard. His eyes roved over everyone, taking in what they had worn. He sighed when he noticed that all of the Slytherin’s and some of the Ravenclaw’s had chosen to come out in their robes. 

“Alright, I would like everyone in robes to stay on this side, and everyone else on this side,” he called out, voice dispassionate. He waited a moment for the command to sink in before there was a flurry of activity and a few moments later the two groups were separated. He turned to look at those who had dressed as he had, in sweatpants and shirts, some with shorts or sweaters. Good clothes to exercise in. 

“Well done to those who did as I said. Ten points to Gryffindor and Hufflepuff and five points to Ravenclaw,” he said before turning to look at the other group. “As for you lot, I specifically stated to wear clothes in which you can exercise in. Robes were nowhere on that list. Ten points from Slytherin and five points from Ravenclaw.”

He ignored the cries of annoyance as he withdrew his wand and without so much as a by your leave transfigured their clothes into more workable items. He made to turn to the rest of the group, about to get them started on that mornings exercise. 

“You can’t do that,” a shrill voice called out, a voice that even after so long without having heard it, sent shivers of annoyance down his spine. 

He turned to look at Pansy Parkinson with the indifference on his face morphing into one of slight annoyance. “Ms Parkinson, you are under the belief that I actually care. Let me make something extremely clear to each and everyone of you. I am from the future. I know what is going to happen to each and every single one of you. I know what each and every single one of you are going to do. And trust me when I say some of you would be better off dead here and now. Frankly, as much as I like the way the world turned it out, it would be a better place if I simply killed you here and now. Do not give me that opportunity because I will take it.”

He could see a few defiant looks, and a few of fear and he stayed silent, waiting for his own voice to pipe up with the familiar few words.

“When my father hears about this,” the younger Draco began. “He’ll have you fired.”

“Mr Malfoy, you father does not scare me, nor does the threat of me getting fired do anything. I know your father. I know everything he has done, and with one sentence I could have him kissed by the end of the day and your entire monetary possessions taken away until you are poorer than a beggar.”

He heard a few snorts of laughter and he let them go, knowing it would serve to make him shut up. He had never handled humiliation well. He waited before the class had calmed down before beginning to speak again. 

“My job is to prepare you to be able to defend yourself without the use of magic. Now, I know for a fact that some of you know wandless magic, and others scoff at the idea that Muggle methods could ever worK. However, I pose these questions for you: what happens in a situation where you are wandless and there is a no-magic ward around you? What then? Muggles will join the war eventually, trust me on this, and they do not have magic. As such, they use other means of killing people. There is no ward to stop a speeding bullet, and if that bullet catches you in one of the major arteries, or in your head, you will die. Do not mistake Muggles for weak simply because they cannot use magic.” He stopped there, looking around at the students, seeing wide eyes and fear in each of their eyes, as well as a few with determination and others with disbelief. 

“By the end of this year, each and everyone one of you will be able to run sixteen kilometers[2] and do numerous push-ups, sit-ups and pull-ups. You will be flexible, trained in martial arts, know the human body and understand how to use, arm and disarm most guns and bombs. If you screw up in this course, you will kill someone, and then you will go to Azkaban, so it would be wise to listen. I will not, I repeat, will not, tolerate any disrespect in this class. I don’t care if you are a pureblood, half-blood, Muggleborn or a centaur. I frankly don’t give a flying fuck if the Dark Lord himself walks in here. You will treat him and everyone else with respect, or you will be expelled. Do you understand me?”

He looked over each of the students, seeing them nod their heads, eyes wide with fear and worry. He smiled tightly at them, making sure his eyes were still cold. “Now that we understand each other, we shall begin. I would like everyone to take two laps[3] around the pitch, without stopping. If you stop, it will be doubled. You are going to run, and I promise that by the end of class this afternoon you will be in some sort of pain. Now go.”

He could see them look at him disbelievingly for a moment before they began to go, groups leaving in ones and twos, slowly until all the students were gone. He watched them, noting who was in front and who was in the back. Harry and Ron were leading with Hermione and Ginny a little ways away. He knew those four had begun to train over the summer, knowing what Harry had to do. He could see his younger version and Blaise running a few steps behind, bent over and obviously still half asleep. Everyone else was in a large group, and then the slowest trickled behind them. Neville and Millicent were pulling up the rear huffing and puffing. 

He turned his head to the front, knowing that his younger self was going to begin to taunt and he knew that this was going to be a long year. 

\--

Draco watched as the students gingerly sat in their desks, wincing as their muscles protested the movement. He smirked and stood up, waiting until everyone had sat down before launching into the first lesson. 

“Welcome, class. As you might have guessed, this class is not going to tolerate any sort of disrespect or any insults. To attempt to breech this problem, I am going to give you a journal that is connected with another student, from a different house. The assignment is to get to know this person. The books are warded against certain words and phrases, making it impossible to reveal your real name, side in this war, or intentions. There is no way around this. All journals are connected to one of my own, so I will know exactly what you write. I am going to hand out the journals; they are identical and can only be read by your own eyes. You are going to choose an alias and begin to talk to your partner in this class. Do not attempt to figure it out by trying to be sneaky. The results will not be to your liking,” he began, moving to open a cupboard where a stack of journals sat. 

“Any questions?” he asked, turning around to look at them. When none came, he nodded and turned back to the cupboard. “When I say your name, please come and get the book, and wait until I tell you to begin. You are going to write in this book, even if it is a simple hello, daily.”

He began to call out the names, handing out the books to the students. He waited until everyone had their book and were sitting down, looking at him expectantly, before he nodded. “Begin.”

 _Hi there, I guess you can say it’s nice meeting you, but I don’t know you, do I? You can call me … Alex, I guess. I always liked the name Alexander, it has a nice ring to it. Alexander rolls off the tongue quite nicely._

**Hi Alexander, this is … ummm Robin?? Yeah, Robin. I’m going to go by Robin. Not because of the bird, but really this old … Hey! I can’t write what I wanted to say. I began and it shocked me. I guess it really is warded against saying anything like that.**

Of course it is. That man is insane and I don’t care if he is reading this. He is insane and I am sore in places I didn’t even know existed. He is a … fuck. That hurt.

**He doesn’t seem that bad. I’m a little sore, but nothing major. I’ve hurt worse.**

You exercise to hurt this much? You are insane.

**No, I’ve broken my arm before. And my leg and I think I’ve sprained my wrist.**

Trouble child?

**I guess you could say that. It seems to find me more often than not.**

That sucks. I’ve broken my wrist before; it hurts, just like you said.

**Yeah. So umm ….**

I’ll talk to you tomorrow I guess, since he let class out. 

 

**Part 6;**

Draco leaned against the desk, watching as the class shuffled in for the first class lesson of the third week of school. They had added a lap this morning as well as another set of each of the other exercises and he knew it had shocked a lot of them that they were unable to handle any more. They had gotten used to it, comfortable with the idea that they only had to do a little less than a kilometer, and now he had turned it around and made them run 1.2 kilometers. He knew that extra lap had made a difference. 

He waited until the last person had filtered into the class before pushing himself up off his desk and clasping his hands behind his back. “Good morning class, or good afternoon, as it were. I trust we are all in fine spirits today? Last class we talked about the skin and hair cells on the body. Now we’re going to start going inside: bones, organs, muscles, all that fun stuff. Today, we are going to be looking at the bones of the human body.”

He could see a few people look a little queasy and he grinned at them, knowing that the next class was going to be even worse, when they went into looking at live pictures of organs and muscles moving. He turned his head, looking over the class and waited a moment before speaking. 

“Who knows how many bones are in the human body?” he asked, looking around, waiting for an answer. He was surprised when no one raised a hand and he sighed. “There are 206, give or take an extra rib or lumbar vertebrae." He pushed himself up off the desk and flicked his wand at the board, a picture of a human skeleton taking place. 

“What is the smallest bone?” he continued on, wondering if anyone had read the book he had assigned them. He sighed when no one raised their hand. “The three smallest bones are in the ear: ossicles, the hammer,” he continued, flicking his wand at the picture and it rotated, moving to show the bones he had named, “the anvil and the stirrups. They are used to help transmit sounds from the outside into your cochlea. If these are broken, damaged or missing, then it will result in hearing loss to some degree." 

He looked around, seeing a few people taking notes, and other people leaning back, looking at him bored and he sighed. “Pop quiz. Whoever gets this answer right doesn’t have to come in tomorrow morning.”

He saw everyone perk up at this and he continued. “Get out a quill and a piece of paper. If you read the assignment I gave you last night, then this will be an incredibly easy question.”

He waited until he had their full attention, everyone’s quill poised above the paper and looking at him expectantly. “What is the longest bone in the human body?”

He leaned back, watching as everyone bent down and scratched an answer to his questions before setting the quill down and looking up. “Quills down,” he said after a couple of minutes and flicked his wand, the papers soaring into his hands. 

He sat on his desk, toes hitting the ground with ease as he flipped through them, setting them down in a pile. His annoyance became more and more pronounced as each consecutive answer was wrong. He sighed, setting down the next piece of paper and reading the next answer, a small amount of hope entering him when he saw the correct bone, and he raised an eyebrow at the name. Setting it down in a separate pile he continued through, finding only one other right answer. 

Looking up at the class, he could see them shifting nervously. He lifted up the bigger pile and raised his up. “These were wrong,” he said without preamble. “Since 98% of the class got them wrong, I am reassigning the reading, as well as the two consecutive chapters, and on Wednesday we are going to have an exam on what you have read.”

He ignored the groans of annoyance and held up the two that were right. “These two students will be exempt from the test; instead, they shall have a quiz on the two extra chapters, on top of not having to show up to tomorrow’s morning class. However, I would highly recommend it.”

He fell silent. He knew everyone was waiting for the answer as to who had got it right and he fought back a smirk. “So, Neville Longbottom and Millicent Bulstrode shall have a free morning, if they so wish it. They got the correct answer, which was in fact the femur. For those who did not do the reading, it's the thigh bone. Any questions?”

He could see the smiles that Neville and Millicent were trying to hide and he felt proud of them for a moment before he noticed a hand in the air and he turned, looking at his younger self who had a sneer on his face. He raised an eyebrow. “Yes, Mr Malfoy?”

“I was just wondering, Professor, if we know you in the future?”

Draco could remember why he asked this question. He had wanted to see if the professor would let it slip which side he was on. When he had asked the question, he had felt sneaky and sly. By the end of class, like an idiot. 

“I can say that all of you in this class know me. In fact, one of the students in this school is going to end up being my boyfriend in a few years. When I was sent back, my body de-aged to how old I was in this time and age, so don’t give me that disgusted look, Mr Weasley. This is now how I look, and my name is not my name. However, I am not going to divulge which side of the war I was on Mr Malfoy, and you cannot say that since I am teaching a Muggle defense class, I was on Dumbledore’s side. Both sides of the war used Muggle weapons, Mr Malfoy. Your father had a small gun himself, if I remember correctly. No one here is going to be able to get any more information from me, and before you ask, I did not leave Hogwarts at the end of my seventh year.”

It was technically a lie, but his father had pulled him out two days before.

“Now, turn to page 123 in the book and, since none of you know anything about human bones, we are going to go through what we did in class last Monday, in full detail.”

_**He is insane! I can’t believe he expected us to know that information.** _

_He did assign it._

_**I know that Alex, but still. All of that on top of the other homework! It’s bloody unfair is what that is.** _

_Get used to it. It’s probably going to get worse. God, I need a drink._

_**Me too. I want a firewhiskey. Firerum would be good right about now.** _

_I’ve always been partial to firevodka. I’ve had a bad experience with firewhisky._

_**What happened?** _

_Let’s just say that drinking and brooms do not go well together. It was how I broke my arm._

_**Ouch, that doesn’t sound like a lot of fun.** _

_It wasn’t, and it hurt like hell._

_**I know how that is. I broke mine … fuck! I hate this goddamn book!** _

_It hurts, doesn’t it!_

_**Yes! Goddamn fucking little shithead.** _

_Temper, temper!_

_**Temper this. Goodnight!** _

_Stop acting like a bloody … fuck! Shitting little wanker! That hurt!_

**Part 7;**

Draco watched as the last of the students filed out before he turned with a sigh, shuffling his papers. It was the week before Christmas and he was getting tired of living through all the attacks and the worry again. This was more than anyone should’ve ever been through. He knew what was going to happen, and there was nothing he could do about it. He wished he could just run and tell everyone what was going to happen, tell them to save the pain but he knew that a lot of these events, while sad now, were important in the future. 

Especially for Harry. Harry had always been so innocent, trusting, with each consecutive death he became harder, colder, and more inclined to lash out at someone if they hurt another person. Although in this time he had hated the way Harry looked so innocent, so trusting at everyone, now he was relishing it, looking at the brunet every chance he could. Soaking in the innocence that would soon go away in the events that would begin next year. 

He heard a knock on the door, breaking him from his thoughts as he turned around, eyes looking at his younger self who was standing there worried. He mentally did the calculations, and he remembered, right then, what this day had been. He had thought it had been later. He hadn’t looked through his memories to see what he had been told. He wanted to give this Draco the same advice that he had been given, but he could only remember a few key words and phrases. 

He remained calm though, raising an eyebrow impassibly at the younger man and gesturing him to enter into the room. “What can I do for you, Mr Malfoy?”

He leaned against the desk, arms crossed over his chest as he watched his younger self make his way to the front and stand, nervously, head down and pale hair obscuring his face. He watched himself bite his lip and gray eyes dart around. He remembered how nervous he had been, not wanting to ask the teacher this question, how he had just blurted it out in the most inelegant way ever. 

“I was wondering if you knew which side I was going to be on,” the younger Draco said all of a sudden, his voice too loud and too squeaky in the stone chamber. 

Draco remained silent, staring impassively at himself, while his mind desperately tried to remember what he had been told. “What makes you think I will tell you, Mr Malfoy?” It didn’t sound right, but it was a start. 

“Because I don’t know. I don’t want to give up my father and my mother because I love them, but I don’t want to hurt anyone. I can’t even hurt a house elf, how am I supposed to hurt a bigger person?” the younger Draco cried out impassionedly, all his poise and elegance gone in a split second to be replaced by desperation. 

“Mr Malfoy, I cannot tell you what to do, you must make the choice on your own,” he said, remembering having been told that when he was in the same situation. 

Draco wished he could tell his younger self what to do, but he knew he couldn’t. He knew that the events that were shortly going to happen were going to shape how his future was made. He knew that the things he had seen had helped him grow up, made him into the man he was today. He knew that Draco needed to go through years of servitude under the dark lord to even begin to comprehend what the other side had to offer. 

“I need to know,” the other version cried out, gray eyes wide and hands trembling. 

“I cannot tell you that. But I can tell you that whatever you do, you need to do because it is what you want. Take away your father, your mother, your friends and everyone whose opinion matters to you, and then decide. Do not make the mistake of joining the dark lord to please your father if you do not want to, nor join the Order in a fit of teenage rebellion. The only thing I can tell you is to do what _you_ want. Not what anyone else wants or asks of you.”

Draco’s impassionate speech came from his mind, each word flowing out of his mouth as a similar scene flashed before his eyes, the memories the same as this one, only with a different view. Looking up in disgust, awe, fear, trust, confusion and clarity at this golden teacher who was helping him, somehow. 

“How is that supposed to help?” 

Draco shrugged. “I don’t know. All I know is that your choices are yours and they will determine the person you will become.”

“What about you? What side were you on?”

Draco started. That was not a question he had asked the teacher. He had simply nodded and walked away, heartbroken and confused as to where his life would take him. He had always hated not knowing what was going to happen, not knowing that if turning the corner would give him a reward, or if it would kill him or injure him permanently. 

“I,” he began, unsure of himself, “I played both sides of the war, Mr Malfoy. I was no more a Death Eater than I was an Order member, and yet both sides trusted me at different times.”

“Then how come you don’t have a mark?”

Draco blinked, unsure of how to explain that and figured the truth was something that could be handled. “When I was sent back, my body, reverted back to the age I was in this time. During this time, I was not marked, nor was I scarred. What you see is an unbreakable glamour.”

“Why not just Polyjuice?” the Draco asked, eyes slightly interested. 

“My father used to tell me Polyjuice was for the common and the poor, and that subjecting yourself to pain to undergo a transformation to make you less perfect than we were was something my family never did. That and it tastes horrible and you have to drink it every hour. Even in my time, that has not changed,” Draco said with a shrug. 

He watched the younger man, realising his mistake a little too late as the gray eyes of his younger self suddenly turned dark with shock, then realisation and then anger a split second before a wand was pointed in his face. 

“You’re me. I mean, you are what I’m going to become!” the Draco cried out angrily, eyes flashing and thinking. 

Draco stood up, his own eyes flashing. “Put the wand down,” he said through gritted teeth, knowing now why he did not remember this. 

“No, not until you tell me what I need to voice,” voice tinged with anger and desperation. 

Draco moved instantly, hand coming up to knock the wand out of his face, fingers wrapping around the thin wrist and the other around a slender neck, pressing his younger self down against the nearest table. He felt long fingers wrap around his hand around his younger self’s neck and he snarled. 

“You do not know what you are asking. You don’t understand. I love my live and goddamn it, it is going to be the same when I get back one way or the other. You don’t know what I am capable of. I remember being you. I remember the distrust and the fear and loneliness and now none of that is something I am familiar with. I have people I trust, love, and love me back. I have friends whom I would die for and I am not ready to give that up,” he snarled, fingers tightening. 

He could see his familiar gray eyes opening wide in fear and with another little squeeze he stepped back, brandishing his own wand and pointing it at the younger Malfoy who was holding his throat, eyes wide in fear, and the slightest bit of hope. Draco ignored that sliver of hope and forced himself to be strong, to do what was needed. He took a deep breath before waving his wand, muttering an _Obliviate_ under his breath, watching as the gray eyes went glass for a moment and he took that moment to put his wand away, leaning against the table. 

“Goodnight Mr. Malfoy,” he said forcing his voice to be calm. 

His younger self looked confused for a moment before nodding; a soft goodbye uttered before he walked out, leaving Draco slumped against his desk. As soon as the door closed, he raised a trembling hand, pressing it against his eyes and sighing; shaking his head at himself, wishing Harry was here to be stronger. He heard a sound and he looked up, looking for the source and not seeing anything. Shaking his head at his paranoia, he turned around, taking the door to his private chambers and missing the wide eyes watching him, hidden in the darkness. 

_My head’s been hurting a lot lately. I think school is making me crazier and crazier._

_**You mean, you, Alex, are admitting you are insane?** _

_Of course not. I’m just saying that my head hurts a little bit. All that reading for Professor Binn's class so you know what the hell he is actually talking about._

_**You actually read the book? The only person who I know does that is … ouch. It’s official. He’s a sadist.** _

_Poor little Robin got hurt, did he?_

_**Yes, goddamn it. It’s bleeding now. I hate blood.** _

_Faint at the sight of it?_

_**Obviously not, as I am still talking to you, you wanker.** _

_Right. Did you get the answer for number 3 on the homework?_

_**Yeah, wasn’t it an AK47?**_

_I thought it was a Desert Eagle?_

_**No, I’m sure it’s the AK47.**_

_Desert Eagle. I’m sure of it._

_**Let's do our own and see who's right, alright? You’re going down, Alex.**_

_After you, Robin._

 

 **Part 8;**

Draco sat up, the last of the papers settling in the pile of everything that had to be graded. He ran a hand over his face, tired at the events of the day. He had forty-seven students, and in a fit of insanity, he had asked for a two-foot paper on the human body and how it worked. Some of them had been interesting, and he knew that those few were going to end up in the Prophet or at Witch Weekly, for the small amount of time it continued its publication during the beginning of the war. The others were all the same, varying degrees of right and wrong facts, written in a tone of voice in which there was no room to brook the argument they felt this was interesting. He knew it was boring, he thought it was boring, but it needed to be done, and so he made them read and write papers.

He heard yelling outside his corridor and he looked up, seeing that class should still be in session according to the clock. Figuring it was some students with free time, he ignored it until he heard a shouted curse and he reacted before he thought, his wand out and pointed at the door, muttering a see-through spell before he had a chance to process. 

The door turned opaque, the figures on the other side slightly fuzzy as they moved and shot spells. None of them had a silver edge that deemed a dangerous spell, but he kept watch, knowing that the students had to fight now and then, but he didn’t want them to get hurt. One of the figures turned right then, and his heart clenched as he saw Harry’s face, frowning in concentration. 

It was then he paid more attention to the fight, standing up, a hand braced against the door, fingers curling as he itched to move in and protect Harry from all possible dangers. He chewed on his lower lip, nervous as he caught sight of Pansy standing there and suddenly he felt his insides freeze over. It wasn’t supposed to happen yet, he had another week before this. Everything was moving too fast. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. 

He reached for the door handle, intent on stopping this, and stopping the events about to come, but he stopped himself. Harry needed this. He needed to understand. It was vital. Draco closed his eyes, his forehead resting against the door as he heard the shouted curses and hexes, the names and the exclamations of pain and triumph echoing around him. 

He opened his eyes, looking at Harry who was being clapped on the back by Ron, and then at Pansy, who was on the ground, eyes wide in shock as he stared up at Harry. Blaise had crouched down, rubbing a hand over Pansy’s shoulder, his own eyes burning with resentment, and Draco knew that for all it was too soon, he was powerless to stop him as Harry turned his back and began to walk away, chatting with Ron. 

He watched as Blaise stood up, wand outstretched and pointing at Harry. He heard his lover's name echo around the hall and Draco watched as Harry turned wide eyed. 

“ _Sectumsempra_.”

The word echoed around the corridor and he watched the red light lined with silver flash towards Harry, getting closer and closer until it hit. Harry dropped to his knees, hands coming up instantly, blood beginning to spill between fingers and out of his mouth. 

He could hear yelling as blood began to pound in his veins and he watched as Blaise and Pansy suddenly ran away, casting smirking looks behind them. It was that look of triumph, that look without guilt or fear that broke through his defenses, and he yanked the door open, face glowering in rage. He took in the sight of blood bubbling out of his lover’s mouth, spilling between his fingers as his eyes became more and more glazed as his life slowly slid away. He could see fearful, and hopeful, blue eyes look up at him. 

“Get Poppy,” he said, his voice barely a whisper, and yet Ron obeyed, setting Harry on the ground gently before scrambling up, running away from the two of them and turning the hall. Draco ignored him, dropping down to his knees and dragging Harry’s body up against his, holding him close, moving Harry’s hands, covering the wound with his own, attempting to hold it closed, blood staining his clothes and skin. 

“Calm down, you’re going to live, you’ll be fine,” he murmured, uncaring if it was the truth, knowing he needed to get Harry’s rapidly fluttering heart rate down, to calm down, so his heart would stop pumping so much blood. He drew Harry’s body closer to him, seeing his eyes suddenly fill with hope, and Draco managed a weak smile down at Harry. “I need you to calm down,” he said, the heart rate under his fingers not changing at all. 

He looked up. looking for whatever hope would be at the end of the corridor. The only sound he could hear was the gurgle of Harry’s throat trying to get a breath down. He looked back down and saw that Harry’s eyes had slid shut, his breathing had slowed down, and his skin had taken a gray tinge to it. He jostled his leg, needing Harry to wake up, but he didn’t. He remained still and lifeless. It was then he noticed that Harry was colder than a moment ago and he swallowed. 

His mind began to work frantically, trying to remember what had happened. Harry had never remembered this part, and Ron had never told him for some reason. He looked up again, willing Poppy to come and hurry, to save Harry, but no one was coming. It was as if he was the only person in the castle. 

A thought came unbidden to his mind, and before he fully comprehended it, he was closing his eyes, the incantation burned fully in his mind. 

“La mia vita unto voi, heilen Sie, leben Sie wieder,” he whispered, feeling something well up inside of him before spilling over [4].

His vision turned black, spots of colour dancing before his eyes as he suddenly felt older, felt as if he had lived for a hundred years instead of just seventeen and thirty respectively. He was vaguely aware of noises around him, of a blaring alarm and voices coming closer, but all he could feel was the muscles, then the flesh knitting together underneath his hands and he whispered it again, softer, more forceful. He felt Harry’s body wrack with shudders before the brunet threw himself out of Draco’s arms, dropping to the side, coughing, spitting, hacking up the blood and small pieces of something onto the floor. 

His vision cleared and he was faced with the view of Harry kneeling on the floor, forehead pressed against the stone next to a pile of red vomit. He looked up, seeing Poppy, Ron, Severus and Albus standing there, wide eyed and he raised a shaky hand, running it over his face, forgetting the blood that was on his hands before he ran it through his hair, pushing the dark hair off his face. 

He shivered, limbs and body shaking. He had never used that spell, and he never knew that this would be the price. He felt like he had aged a hundred years, his limbs were shaking, and he was more tired than he could ever remember being. He heard a cough and he turned, looking at Harry who was shaking, looking as if he were on a verge of a meltdown. 

He swallowed, attempting to regain his composure. “Mr Weasley, take Mr Potter to the hospital wing. Do not let anyone see you.”

Ron stood there for a moment, shock and confusion on his face before he nodded and helped a pale Harry up. Draco winced as he caught sight of the pink scar that ran along Harry’s neck and he wished he could’ve healed that as well. He pushed himself up, eyes on the retreating backS of Ron and Harry as he stood on shaky limbs. 

“Professor … I,” Poppy said, clearly at a loss as she frowned at him. “What was that?”

“A spell,” he replied. “A new one that hasn’t been invented yet. We’re going to have to Obliviate them. They cannot know, and neither can any of you.”

He could see Severus opening his mouth, about to complain, but then it closed with a nod. “Will you tell us what the spell did before you do?” the potion’s master asked. 

Draco looked at Albus, who was still looking at him in shock. “It ... gives the recipient a piece of your life force, allowing them to live, as well as using your magical energy to heal themselves. It can only work on flesh wounds. It won’t work on Avada Kevadra. The problem with the spell is that it forms a … bond of some sort. No one really knows what this bond does, but we do know that it makes the recipient stronger, more resistant to physical attacks.”

The other three stared at him in shock for a moment before Albus seemed to shake himself out of it. “A bond? That cannot be good.”

“Trust me, it’s to me, not to the younger me. It will hold no sway over Harry. The Harry I know has that exact same scar,” he said, remembering the feel of the raised and bumpy skin under his fingers. 

“If you are sure,” Albus said still wary.

Draco nodded. “I am.”

He raised his wand, intent on Obliviating the memories from them when Severus held up a hand. “What about the culprit?”

“The two of them disappeared from school without a trace. They will be taken care of,” he said, rage burning deep inside his gut. 

Albus looked worried, but then a sort of steely determination came over his eyes and he nodded. “Thank you, Professor.”

Draco nodded and before any of them could say anything else, he wiped their memories clean, eyes wide as he watched their eyes glaze over for a moment before looking around confused. 

“It was for your own good,” he murmured as he had three sets of confused gazes look at him. “Mr Potter is in the Hospital Wing. He needs to be cleaned and checked up on. And I need to speak to him.”

 **Part 9;**

Draco stopped outside of the infirmary, eyes glued to the door, knowing he had to go in and Obliviate all memories of this. He wished this wasn’t getting so hard. When he had started to do this, it was so easy, so easy just to sit back and watch their faces, as they slowly got used to the extra laps and the other exercises he put them through. He thought maybe he would’ve had to deal with some broken bones and issues over certain fighting styles they were going to learn. Nothing to this extent. He had never even considered the possibility that he was so vital to the events in the future.

His memory of his seventh year had always been hazy, gaps missing for no reason at all. It had always annoyed him that he could never remember events that other people talked about, and now he knew why. He had never been good at messing with people’s memories. He could do it, but only if he concentrated hard, and when he had Obliviated his younger self, it had been in a split second, no time to plan it out and think. He was sure he messed with his mind accidentally and it annoyed him. Although at the same time, he was relieved that he knew after all these years why he couldn’t remember. 

He pressed a hand against the door and took a deep breath, knowing he was going to have to go in and do this, without any questions and just tell them what needed to be done. Closing his eyes for a moment, he opened them and pressed on the door, the old wood groaning and creaking as it once more opened to reveal the injured parties. 

He saw a flash of red down the end, next to the bed that had Harry’s name scrawled affectionately above the wall. He drew back his shoulders and squared them, face carefully blank and emotionless. He was not going to allow his personal feelings to mess up their mind like he had messed up his own. 

He could see Harry struggling to sit up as he moved close, and he shook his head. “Lie down, Mr Potter. You are mostly healed, but not completely.”

He could see the distrusting and curious green gaze look at him for a moment before Harry nodded and sunk back down into the cushions, the scar wrapping around three-fourths of his neck bright in the harsh light of the infirmary. He waved his hand, conjuring a chair with ease and sitting down, robes arranged around him. He crossed his legs and leaned back, looking at Harry, and then at Ron who was watching him with an odd look as well. 

“I trust the both of you have questions?” he murmured. 

“I know who you are,” Ron blurted out, face suddenly burning red when he realised when he had said. 

Draco managed to keep his expression under control and he merely raised an eyebrow, as if he were amused and not about to run screaming from the infirmary. “Is that so?” 

Harry was looking between the two of them oddly, and Ron nodded, face redder than his hair. “I heard you talking to Malfoy and then I saw you _Obliviate_ him.”

Draco’s other eyebrow raised and he looked at Ron incredulously. “Then, I guess it is no use in denying it. However, you do know that I am going to have to get rid of that memory, as well as the memory of the events that just transpired, correct?”

Harry swallowed. “Sir, is that really necessary?”

Draco turned his gaze to his lover and nodded. “I am afraid it is. The spell is not going to be developed for a few years from now and I cannot allow you to walk around with this knowledge, as well as what can happen. It is dangerous and something not to be trifled with. “

“Who are you?” Harry asked, looking between Ron and Draco, green gaze calculating. 

Draco shrugged and turned to look at Ron. “You can tell him, neither of you are going to remember it anyway.”

Ron looked at him for a moment before turning and whispering in Harry’s ear. Draco watched in slight amusement tinged with some trepidation as Harry’s face went white with shock and then red with anger. Draco flicked his hand as soon as he saw the telltale flush, silencing the room just in time. 

“You slimy little ferret! You deserve to rot in Azkaban for all that you did! I actually thought you were a good person, but in reality you're just a little snake who came here to make sure Voldemort wins!” Harry raged, turned redder and redder with each word. 

Draco sat through it, emotionless, knowing he needed to allow Harry to vent some steam before anything else could happen. The other man, for all of his wisdom in the years to come, still wore his heart on his sleeve. And, he had the shortest temper fuse Draco had ever seen. Even Ron had calmed down after a couple years of war, realising not all was black and white, but that there was a lot of gray in the world. 

Draco watched Ron who was looking around nervously for a moment before switching over to Harry who was panting, eyes wide and face red, his hair sticking up at all angles looking for the world like some deranged, psychotic killer. 

“Are you done?” he asked, smirking a little as Harry huffed and crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back, green eyes looking at him furiously. Eventually, Harry gave a sharp jerk on his head and Draco leaned forward. 

“Now, trust me when I say you currently don’t like me, but also trust me when I say that in about four or five years that is going to change. I am not the same person in this day and age. I grew up, I matured, I realised that Voldemort was an idiot and I was an even bigger one to follow him. You’re not going to remember this, but trust me when I say that all is going to turn out well in the end, and that having your memory erased is a good thing,” he said, tapping his fingers against his chin. 

Harry looked at him dubiously and he sighed. “I know it’s hard to believe and there is really nothing I can say or do to make you believe me, but do you honestly thing Dumbledore would allow me to teach here if I was a member of Voldemort’s ranks, never mind the fact that I teach a Muggle defense class? Do you really see the current Draco Malfoy teaching what I teach? I’ve changed and, if nothing else, think about it and see from what you know about me.”

Harry’s arms relaxed slightly then and Draco leaned back, recognising the signs of a reluctant acceptance. He crossed a leg over the other and removed the wand from his pocket. He placed it on the bed carefully, seeing the blue and green gazes look at the wand and then back again at him. 

“It would be best if you were asleep for this, that way if something is missed then it would only seem like a dream and nothing more. I am going to _Obliviate_ this conversation and modify the memory of my healing you, making the wound seem less severe and easily healed,” he explained, looking from one to another. 

“Professor,” Harry began, brow wrinkling a little at the familiar epithet on someone he hated. “How old are you?”

Draco managed a small smile. “I’m 30, and the war is over, you won, and survived, along with Hermione and Ron.”

Harry slumped against the headboard, relief and wonder flooding his features for a moment it turned suspicious. “I’m not going to remember this, am I?”

Draco shook his head. “No, but the spell never takes away emotions, so you will remember the feeling of relief, among others.”

Harry looked thoughtful for a moment before nodding and scooting down the bed, getting comfortable. Draco was disquieted over how easily this Harry seemed to accept Draco for who he was. He was so accepting and optimistic, so unlike his jaded lover that it almost tore his heart in half. 

“Hopefully I won’t end up like Lockhart, eh Ron?” Harry said with a chuckle, turning to his best friend who had a slightly stunned look on his face. 

“Yeah, that’d be a shame,” Ron replied after a moment, seeming to come together at the last moment. 

Draco nodded and pressed his wand against Harry’s temple. “Goodnight,” he murmured.

He heard the faint reply before he cast the sleeping spell and Harry’s eyes fluttered closed and a deep rumble was emitted from his chest as the brunet snuggled into the covers, looking every inch of his seventeen years. Draco leaned forward, wand still pressed to Harry’s temple as he concentrated carefully before casting the spell, sending a prayer to every deity he could think of, hoping he wouldn’t mess this up like he had messed up his own memory. 

He dropped his arm, wand by his side, watching as Harry simply mumbled and turned over, snuggling further into the pillows. Draco allowed himself a moment to watch Harry sleeping so peacefully, storing it away in his mind before he turned to Ron, who was chewing on his lip and tugging at his fringe, looking deep in thought, just like he did night after night when he stayed up looking at, and revising, strategy plans. 

“I would suggest you find a bed,” Draco murmured. 

Ron looked up, slightly startled at the reminder that there was someone else in the room. He looked nervous, blue gaze darting around the room. “I … uhh,” Ron began, running a hand through his red hair. 

Draco raised an eyebrow, waiting for Ron to finish what he was going to say. When nothing came, he cleared his throat expectantly. 

Ron flinched slightly and took a deep breath. “Look, I really, really don’t like the idea of people messing with my mind. It’s a paranoia of sorts and so I was thinking I could keep this a secret and y'know, help the Draco that’s my age when he starts to act like you, so people could accept you better.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Are you under the impression people accepted me?”

Ron blushed. “Uhhh, yeah?”

Draco leaned back, an arm curling around the back of his chair, rolling his wand between his fingers as he looked at the flushed redhead. He shrugged a shoulder. “I was, eventually” he said. Come to think of it, Ron had been particularly accepting, almost jumping at the chance to shake his hand when he had finally changed sides. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad for Ron to remember certain things. 

“Then I can help,” Ron said earnestly. 

Draco sighed. “Even if I did allow this, how can we know you are going to keep the secret? You could be captured and tortured, every memory drawn from your mind and my position in jeopardy.”

Ron frowned, chewing on his lip and tugging at the forelock of his hair again. Suddenly, a light seemed to come on his face and he looked up. “A Secret Keeper. You can be the keeper of the secret, so that I can’t tell and no one can find out!”

Draco raised an eyebrow, having to admit that for all of his planning and ideas, this had to rank at the number one spot of things he shouldn’t do. And yet at the same time, he wanted to. He sighed. “That would be a singularly bad idea,” he began, watching as Ron’s face fell and fear slowly began to trickle in. “However, I cannot seem to make myself disagree with you, and as such, I am going to allow it, with some rules.”

Ron’s worried filled face suddenly lit up and he sat straight, looking overjoyed. “Sure? What?”

“I am going to have to remove certain events from your mind. The outcome of the war and how I healed Harry namely. Those are too dangerous for you to have running around in your mind,” he said. 

Ron looked thoughtful for a moment. “I can handle that, I think. I just don’t like having my memory messed with.”

“There are some things that need to be forgotten,” Draco replied, voice serious. 

Ron looked thoughtful for a moment before nodded again. “Let’s do it.”

_**Well, today sucked, for lack of a better term.**_

_Long day?_

_**You have no idea, and I can’t talk to you about it because of these goddamn books and the fucking wards and it’s a fucking piece of shit and I really don’t like life right now. I need to rant and I can’t rant to anyone!** _

_What about your friends?_

_**They wouldn’t understand?**_

_Poor Robin. You know I would help if I could, right?_

_**I know, thanks.** _

_No problem, what are friends for?_

_**We’re friends?** _

_I guess through these books we are. Do you mind?_

_**You know what, Alex? I really don’t mind.** _

_I guess you’re stuck with me now._

_**I guess so.** _

_We’re probably going to hate each other if we ever meet each other._

_**Probably, but that is what makes it all the better. It’s like a little piece of us that no one knows about, talking only to each other. Spy shit and all that. I wonder if everyone else gets along like we do?** _

_Probably not … ouch … fuck … my friend hates the other person. Says that the other person is probably a mindless … fuck … well, you get the point._

_**Yeah, I do. You swear a lot more now, Alex.**_

_You’re a bad influence, Robin._

_**I guess I am. Good.** _

_Don’t sound so happy. People might wonder if you’re crazy._

_**I can’t help it. My day was that bad. There is no more room for anything besides happiness.** _

_Ah … shit. Have to go, friends got in._

_**Alright, night! Sleep tight!** _

_Hope the bedbugs bite you!_

_**Asshole.** _

**Part 10;**

Draco looked around at the other teachers, all of them staring at him in pain and disgust. He could hear the screams, the cries for help from the outside and he closed his eyes, fighting against the bonds that held him, wanting to get free, wanting to save them. They were young, they didn’t deserve this. He looked over to where Blaise Zabini was standing, face arrogantly proud that he had managed to get all of the teachers down, and Draco knew it was partly because he had got him. That a simple seventh year student had managed to get the one person who knew what was going to happen, without much of a fight. Draco had been dreading this day for so long, knowing that he would have to live through it. 

He had not participated the first time round, stunning himself so he wouldn’t have to see the faces of the people they were attacking. He had dealt with the aftermath, the screams and cries of pain of the injured and of friends and family finding loved ones dead, eyes open wide and glassy, their lives ripped from their hands by a few spoken words and a flash of green. 

He heard an inhuman howl and he closed his eyes, a sob managing to make its way past his lips, tears gathering at the corner of his eyes and the sound of another scream sent the first tear rolling its way down his cheek. He knew he would be hated, and he would relish it, take their anger and accept it, knowing that they couldn’t accept him, and he would never be able to accept himself. It was impossible. He would live with this pain for the rest of his life, knowing that he could’ve stopped this one act and instead had let it pass. 

He heard the sound of a scream, and it sounded older, deeper, like one of the other years beginning to fight back and winning. He knew Harry and his Defense Association had fought back and won, killing a few of the Death Eater’s children in the process, but no one cared, not a single person had mourned the few seventh years who had been lost during this battle. They were the reason it was begun, and death had been too kind of a punishment. 

He heard someone screaming and even after all these years he recognized the voice. It was Pansy, her insane cackle followed by the shout of a killing curse, and she was cut off mid-yell and he relished it, knowing that once again, she was dead and gone from his life. He chanced a look at Blaise and he saw that the dark-skinned man’s eyes were wide with worry and he was chewing on his bottom lip, his slightly crooked teeth tearing into the flesh and making a small trickle of blood begin to wind its way down his chin to drop on the floor. 

He began to struggle, his inner turmoil breaking free and overpowering his need to leave time alone as it was and let it pass. Years of training allowed him to use this worry, this nervousness that Blaise was clearing displaying, to break though his bonds. He felt his arms and legs begin to move again, the rigor from the full body bind slowly seeping out of his body and leaving his muscles feeling sore. 

He ignored it, palming his spare wand from where Blaise had forgotten to check in his trouser legs and before Blaise could fully turn towards him and defend himself—Draco had shot a stunning spell mixed with a stinging spell at Blaise. He watched in satisfaction as the man fell to the ground, muscles twitching with pain as the feeling of a whip struck across his skin again and again. 

He turned towards the teachers and waved his wand, releasing the bonds. They spared him not a second glance as they rushed out, wands drawn leaving only himself, the Headmaster and Severus Snape in the room. As soon as the door was closed, he felt a long-fingered hand wrap around his robes a moment before he was slammed into the table, the air expelled from his lungs by the force of the attack. 

“What the fuck is this all about?” Severus hissed, voice low and eyes flashing. 

Draco closed his own eyes, unable to see the blame and anger in those eyes and he turned his head away. “It needed to happen,” he murmured, the excuse sounding flimsy, even to him. 

“Children needed to die,” Severus ground out. 

Draco nodded. “They did.”

He felt himself being drawn up and slammed back down, pain radiating from his back and he relished it. Needing the physical reminder than he was human and not a god. He could not change the flow of time. 

“Theirs was a needless death and it rests solely on you, Mr Malfoy,” Severus accused, his voice quiet but each word hitting Draco like a physical blow. 

He looked at the man. “You don’t think I know that? You don’t think that if I didn’t warn people, then I wouldn’t have to live through his again? I don’t want them dead! I wanted them alive! But it needed _to happen_! They needed to see that this war is real!”

He pulled back from yelling in the man’s face, anger staining his cheeks a pale red. “Do not mistake me for some emotionless doll. I have feelings, and goddamn it, I feel responsible for every single life out there, but it needed to happen. No one really understood the war. Most people assumed it wouldn’t affect them. Do you know how many people were going to remain neutral? Do you understand how many children of Death Eater's saw the carnage and turned away from Voldemort to join the Order? No! Because you haven’t fucking lived through it. I know how it changes things, and I know what it means in the long run. But it still hurts because I know that these are children and I could’ve done something about it and I didn’t and I am going to go to hell because of it.”

He had managed to sit up during his impassioned speech, staring Severus straight in the eye as he did it, panting slightly and tears running in two silent tracks down his face. 

Severus stepped back, onyx eyes glowering, thin lips twisted into a sneer of disgust. Draco could see him warring with himself, wanting to attack him for allowing this to happen to children, and another part confused. He looked about to get into another yelling match when a wrinkled and aged hand landed on Severus’s shoulder and he quelled under the soft, sad, heavy gaze of the Headmaster. 

Draco looked away, unable to bear the pity he could see in those blue eyes. He wanted to go home right then and there, damn whatever consequences would result of his actions. He wanted to be wrapped into the firm arms of his lover and just sleep away, pretending this was all just a horrible nightmare and that he would wake up at any moment, roll over and none of this would have happened. 

“The ability to change time and events is a wonderful thing, but it is not changing anything that can sometimes prove to be the hardest thing of them all,” Dumbledore intoned softly, his words barely audible but sounding as if they were shouted into a microphone enhanced with a _Sonorous_ spell. “I am deeply sorry Mr. D’Arcangelo for this, and I further apologise for whatever shall happen to you in the next few months of school.”

Draco turned his gaze away, feeling tears drip onto his hand and he raised his hands and scrubbed at his face furiously. He dropped his head, despair running through every fiber of his being. He felt a hand on his shoulder and he shook it off, just wanting to be alone for the time being. He felt the other two move away, leaving him alone. He drew his legs up, wrapping his arms around them, curling into a ball with his chin resting on his knees. 

He flicked his fingers at the wall, watching as it shimmered and changed, showing the outside, the battle finally finished with the addition of the trained teachers. He fought back bile as he stared into the glassy eyes of the children, no more than thirteen or fourteen, spread out on the floor, books and papers and ink everywhere, having spilled from bags trying to run. 

He could see the older students, injured and gasping, others crying and holding the bodies of friends. He could see the teachers attempting to regain order, Poppy running around, trying her hardest to get to everyone so she could heal them. He could see those with broken bones, gashes running across their bodies and blood staining the walls and the ground. 

“Severus, go get all the potions you can. Get the older students to take those who are mortally injured, or too injured to move and take them to the hospital wing. Find Miss Granger and Mr Potter and tell them to take all the students to the Great Hall,” Dumbledore said, breaking Draco from his staring contest with the wall. 

“Mr Malfoy, I understand your guilt at this point, but am I right in assuming you know how to heal?”

Draco nodded. “I was the team’s healer during the first half of my time with the Order,” he murmured. 

“Then, for the lives you could not save, attempt to help those who can still be saved. Go help Poppy in the room,” Dumbledore said. 

Draco nodded and stood up, body still numb and mind ringing with two sets of memories, the ones he witnessed this day thirteen years ago and the new ones formed today. He braced his shoulders and wiped his face, casting a low-level glamour, hiding the redness of his eyes and the tear tracks on his face. Gathering himself in a way only a Malfoy could, he moved to the door, bracing himself against the hateful glares and opened the door. 

A hush fell over the room, all who were conscious staring at him, blaming him and he walked through it all, wishing someone would punch him, yell at him, scream or something. He managed to stay calm, walking through the bodies quickly, heading towards the infirmary. 

“Bastard!” 

He stopped in his tracks at the voice and he turned slowly, seeing Seamus Finnegan standing there, holding Ginny Weasley close, her blue eyes staring up at him accusingly. 

“You could’ve stopped this. You utter bastard! I hope you rot in hell forever,” Seamus spat, brown eyes glaring furiously at him. 

Draco met his gaze and nodded once. “I hope I do too.”

_**Alex? Are you there? Please tell me you’re there. I really hope you’re there. Oh god, what if you died? I think I might go crazy without these nightly talks. Please be there, please, please, please. Please, don’t have died on me.**_

_Melodramatic much?_

_**ALEX! Oh, thank Merlin. I was worried. I mean, after what happened, and I didn’t know which way to turn and I’m sure that … fuck … people got caught in … shit, and since I don’t know what … Ouch … Well, I was worried!**_

_I’m fine. I got a bump on the head that Pomfrey healed up. Are you ok?_

_**A couple of nicks and bruises, otherwise I’m fine. I guess we lucked out, eh?** _

_Yeah._

_**I’m glad you’re ok. I really think I’d miss you and I don’t even know who you are!** _

_I wish we could find out!_

_**He said we’d only find out by chance, he would never reveal it.** _

_I hope we meet. I could use a decent friend._

_**I have a few … I can always use more.** _

_Me too. Alright, this day has been bad enough. Let's try and learn some more, eh? What’s your favourite colour, Robin?_

_**Silver, yours?** _

_Green._

_**Green and silver are nice colours. What’s your favourite holiday?** _

_Easter. I love chocolate and the fact that we get lots and lots of chocolate is good._

_**I like Christmas, it’s always so pretty when it snows, and you can have hot chocolate and sit in the snow and throw snowballs. It’s fun.** _

_I like coffee in my hot chocolate._

_**That was random.**_

_No it wasn’t, think of it like a natural progression. I like chocolate, and then you said hot chocolate. I was merely continuing the train of thought and saying that I liked coffee in my chocolate._

_**You’re English, have some pride. Tea all the way!** _

_That watered down shit? Not on your life. It's disgusting._

_**No tea with scones and clotted crème for you, then?** _

_No tea. Yes to the others with raspberry or apricot jam, please._

_**I like jam, end of subject.** _

_**It is good. I like it with a piece of toast and tea.** _

_Tea is still gross. I like it spread out across an attractive male to lick it up._

_**... Are you serious?** _

_Yeah, have a problem with that?_

_**I … I … goodnight.** _

_Robin? Robin? What’s wrong? FUCK!_

**Part 11;**

Draco flicked his wand, stopping another ‘misfired’ from hitting him. He turned around, seeing Hermione turning away from him, nose in the air and a scowl on her face. He could see the rest of the students looking at him with rage burning in their eyes. Even Ron, although he knew who he was, couldn’t seem to keep the glower from his face. 

Draco felt the rushing of another spell towards him and he flicked his wand, looking over at Harry who was staring at him defiantly. He sighed. “Class, take your seats,” he said, waiting until all of them had sat down. 

“Right, I understand your animosity towards me right now,” he began, only to be cut off by people beginning to yell. 

“You let them die!”

“You could’ve stopped them!”

“My sister is dead because of you!”

“So’s my brother!”

“You’re a murderer!”

“Death Eater!”

“You should’ve died as a child!”

Draco waited, hearing the hurled insults and accusations and filing them away for later. He shifted, forcing the emotions down, away from his eyes. He waited until the room had quieted down and it seemed everyone was as fraught as he was and had collapsed back in his chair. He drew his legs up, crossing them Indian style on the desk and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and chin in his hands. 

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before opening them. “I am well aware of what you think of me,” he began hearing snorts and watching as people began to look away, uncaring. “And frankly I have to agree with the lot of you.” That caught their attention as the class turned to look at him in confusion.

“Do not believe that I am so heartless that I was able to retain my sanity over what I have helped happened. Do not forget that I have lived through all of this before; I have seen those children’s faces before, lying there just as they did. Do you think to understand why I was able to sit and watch it happen? I know what this does to everyone, I know how this changes everything and affects the war. It might not seem like it now, and I swear to you it was needed, but it will help. If this had no change on the outcome of the war, I would’ve told someone and stopped it from happening, my own future be dammed,” he said, voice strong and emotionless as he looked around the room. 

“Professor,” Harry who spoke up eventually. Draco looked at him and raised an eyebrow in question. “Can you tell us one of the outcomes?”

Draco fought to keep from biting his lip as his mind whirled with the possibilities. Eventually, he nodded. “Do you know who the biggest support, monetary wise, the Order has?”

The class as one shook their head. Draco took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “It was Sonya and Luke Macmillan, Ernie Macmillan’s parents, and as you know he passed away in these recent events. In doing so, his parents, as he was an only child, became neutral and moved away, effectively losing half of their monetary support.”

He could see the confused looks cross over half of the student’s faces, and the other half looked smug at the possibility that the Dark Lord had more money. He wondered why no one had ever figured out who was going to join who, all these children were so open, and try as they might they wore their hearts on their sleeves. 

Suddenly, Dean Thomas jumped up, pointing a finger at him, body shaking in anger. “You … you’re a death eater,” he accused. 

Draco fought to keep from rolling his eyes. “Sit down and do not accuse me of what you don’t know.”

“You didn’t deny it,” Seamus replied. 

“I teach a _Muggle_ defense class, also known as people without magic defending yourself. Last time I checked, it was Voldemort’s sole mission to cleanse the world of them,” he said, attempting to not sound sarcastic. 

That seemed to calm a lot of the students down as they realised it was true. For the past eight months of school, they had been learning how to fight, without magic. 

“Professor,” Hannah Abbott began. “Would you be able to tell us something that benefits Harry’s side?”

Draco turned to look at the blond-haired girl, and after a moment jerked his head. “With the loss of the youngest Weasley child, the third eldest son, Percy, came back to his family and the six brothers actually formed a team. The six of them, when in the same battle, were unstoppable. Bill was the leader, Charlie dealt with transportation and creatures, Fred and George did ammunition, and Mr Weasley was the strategist,” he said, falling silent. 

“What about the pr-Percy?” Ron asked predictably. 

Draco managed a small smirk. “Turns out Percy had a lot, and I mean a lot, of pent up anger. Most of the Death Eaters were afraid of him. There was a rumor in Voldemort’s ranks … if you saw Percy Weasley, begin to pray, because you had just seen the god of death in his vengeance. That man is an arsehole and a damn good fighter.”

He could see the stunned look on Ron’s face and he blanked his face, not showing his amusement at the man’s predicament. Draco, even now after ten years of knowing who and what Percy could do, had trouble reconciling that image with the images of Perfect Prissy Percy.

“So I would suggest, Mr Weasley, that when your brother comes back and you want to shoot him, don’t. He is a very, I repeat, very, important figure in this war. I daresay that even some of the more hardened Death Eaters are afraid of him. He was the one who took out Fenrir Greyback.” He bit his lip, mad at himself for slipping up that piece of information. He closed his eyes for a brief moment waiting for the inevitable. 

“How?”

“What?”

“He’s dead!”

“My brother?”

Draco sighed. “A spun silver garrote one night, and I shall say no more, class dismissed.”

Draco ignored the shouts of anger and confusion, as well as a wish for more, but remained silent, waiting until the last student had grudgingly filed out before dropping both his head into both hands. “Shit.”

_**Well, that was an enlightening class.** _

_Talking to me again, then?_

_**I … umm … I’m sorry about before. I was confused and I realised it doesn’t matter.** _

_Because you don’t know me?_

_**No! It’s not that is just that I … well … it’s not that! I promise!!** _

_Of course it’s not. You just happened to get weird over something I wrote. Perhaps you’d like some more? I am sure I could find something in my perverted mind that would tickle your fancy._

_**I’m fine! Really, I’m fine with it! I just overacted, that’s all! I promise it’s nothing to do with you!** _

_Of course it’s not, that’s why you freaked out. Perhaps you’ll run if I say I like to suck cock? Like to feel it slide down my throat and then explode, letting me drink it all up. You ever tried your own semen? I’ve tried mine and others, and Merlin, it’s like ice cream but better. It’s musky, with a slightly salty taste. I love to have a cock slide in and out of my arse, or with me riding them, backwards, forwards, sideways, any ways, just as long as I get that burn. I liked to be used, I love to be tied up and ridden like there is no tomorrow. I love to be dirty, covered in sweat, lube and spunk, spread out like some whore in a backstreet, hair messy and begging for another round. Does that creep you out as well?_

_**I … merlin.** _

_Still here, then? Want some more?_

_**No! I’m fine. I said I’m fine with it and I am, just, please stop.** _

_Whatever. Goodnight, Robin._

**Part 12;**

Draco leaned back, looking at the calendar, two fingers of firevodka in his hand, steam curling gently along the clear surface and rising into the air. It was May 29th, two weeks before the end of school. He was in shock that it was nearing the end of the year. The students had had their final, in class exam, on Monday, covering everything they had learnt in the school year in his class. It had been a six hour long test, and most of them had stumbled out of there, bleary eyed and looking as if they were going to pass out. 

He raised the tumbler, taking a sip of the drink, watching in slight amusement as a curl of smoke exited his lips and he felt the rush of liquid move down his throat settling in his stomach in a slow burn, heating him up from inside out. He took another sip and rested the glass against his cheek, looking into the fire, sadness etched into every fiber of his being. The school year was almost over; Harry was going to leave in three days and he would not see his lover, except from a distance, for another thirteen years.

His stomach clenched, fighting back the sob that for the first time this year fought to tear itself away from him and gain control of his body. He couldn’t do this; he couldn’t give into the sadness, not wanting to know where it would take him. He was leaving in a few weeks, travelling, learning, helping when he could. He was going to spend his time learning more, learning how to heal, and how to help. He was going to come back and help. Help with the repairs and help build this world up into the shining example he had read about in his childhood, with faeries and werewolves and everyone walking together in a peaceful place. 

He sighed, taking a bigger swallow of his drink, the smoke exhaled from his mouth almost in a ring. He smiled, feeling warm and fuzzy, and he knew he was getting drunk. He had never been able to hold his liquor very well. It didn’t matter; he had nothing to do tonight. He was off duty until Friday. 

He heard a sharp rap against the worn wood off his door and he sat up, feet coming down off his desk, tumbler set on the smooth surface and hand scrubbing at his face, removing traces of the tears that were on his cheeks. He grabbed his wand, adding another layer to the glamour already on his face and took a deep breath, making sure he was presentable. “Come in,” he called out, leaning back against his chair, once more emotionless. 

The door opened to reveal his Harry standing there biting his bottom lip. Draco held back the urge to jump the boy, hating him for dressing like that, in his low pajama pants, too small, too tight shirt, scruffy hair and cheeks, eyes bright behind his overly large glasses. It wasn’t fair for him to tease Draco, to torment him with this innocence that would soon be lost. 

“How can I help you, Mr Potter?” Draco asked, his voice sounding sure and strong. 

“I was wondering if I could … errr … talk with you about something, Professor,” Harry asked, stepping further into the room. 

Draco’s mind was sending signals that this was a bad idea in his current state, but he nodded anyway gesturing to the high-backed chair across from his desk. “Of course, sit.”

He watched Harry with slightly glazed, hooded eyes as the brunet sat down, fidgeting slightly. Draco watched him, fighting the urge to throw him across his desk, hoist his legs up over his shoulders and kiss and fuck the living daylights out of him. 

“What can I do for you?” he asked after a moment of silence, shaking his head slightly to clear the lingering thoughts. 

Harry seemed to brace himself, taking a deep breath. “Well, you see I came here because I wanted to know something and you seemed like the best person to ask and it’s really an odd question so if you don’t answer then that's ok because I know the whole 'can’t let the future change' and all that jazz.”

“Mr Potter,” Draco said in amusement, cutting Harry’s rambling short. “Could you please just say what it is you were going to say.”

Harry nodded, cheek flushed. “I was wondering if you knew if I was gay or not.”

Draco was stunned as he stared at his lover. He opened his mouth, and then closed it, torn between confusion and amusement. He opened his mouth and closed again, this time setting his jaw into a firm line. “Shouldn’t that be something you decide yourself?”

“I mean, I think I do, but then at the same time I don’t and I really want to know because it would make life a lot easier. I mean, when I look at Seamus or Ron I don’t feel anything, but then I look at Charlie, Ron’s older brother y'know, and suddenly I’m,” Harry stopped and blushed them, the colour spreading slowly across his cheeks and down his neck. “Well … I’m, what I mean to say is that …”

“... you have an erection,” Draco finished with a smirk, ignoring the feeling in his groin at the thought of Harry hard. 

Harry’s blush, if possible, deepened until it was a scarlet red covering his face, ears, neck and the top half of his chest, Draco was sure of it. He fought to keep from breaking out in laughter, the alcohol in his blood making everything seem funny at this point, even his current predicament. 

Harry nodded. “Yeah, that. But then I also get an… erection,” he continued, speaking the word as if it was Voldemort’s name. “When I look at Ginny or remember Cho or Alicia.”

Draco blinked, forcing himself to remain calm and cool, and not as if he was one drink into being completely sloshed. “This might come as a surprise Mr Potter, but it is possible for one person to be attracted to both sexes. Have you ever kissed either sex to determine if you are attracted to one over the other?”

Harry grimaced. “I kissed Cho and she cried, and then kissing Ginny was ok, and I kissed Alicia once and she just pushed me away and laughed.”

Draco snorted in amusement. “Perhaps you should attempt to look towards the more feminine side of the female scale, Mr Potter, and see if that works. And if you think you are gay, attempt to find a male in a similar quandary, or attempt to coerce one of your dorm mates into ‘experimenting’ and see what happens.”

Harry blinked, looking confused. “The more feminine side?”

Draco nodded. “Has it come to your notice that the women you are attracted to are all Quidditch players? Not exactly the greatest examples of a female body.”

Harry shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “I dunno. You can’t help who you like.”

Draco did laugh at this and shook his head. “That is untrue.”

Harry suddenly looked defiant. “No, it’s not. If I find someone attractive, then I must like them right?”

Draco shook his head. “I find the younger Lord Voldemort, during his Hogwarts years to be attractive, and yet I don’t like him because of his persona.”

Harry appeared stumped. “But ... he … he’s old!”

Draco suddenly felt morose, wishing for a time where the greatest folly that Lord Voldemort had was in the fact he was old. This innocence, this naivety, was refreshing and saddening as well. “As I said Mr Potter, when he was in Hogwarts.”

Draco suddenly stood up, unable to handle this any longer. Stepping out from behind his chair, he pushed it back in and looked at Harry. “I think it is time for you to go to bed, Mr Potter.”

Harry jumped up. “But you didn’t answer my question!”

Draco sighed, wanting to yell ‘you are gay and end up with Draco Malfoy, so just get on with it’, but remained silent. “That is not something I can tell you. You need to figure it out for yourself.” 

Harry opened his mouth to reply, to fight to get an answer, but he seemed quelled by the slightly peeved look on Draco’s face. Draco walked briskly to the door and stood by it, hand on the door handle. He heard footsteps grind to a halt behind him and he turned to bid Harry a good night when suddenly he was pressed against the door, a pair of lips covering his own. 

He stiffened, knowing this was breaking a hundred and one laws, and he raised his hands, moving to push the other man away. Instead, his fingers curled around thin arms and held tight, tilting his head to the left and kissed back. He kept his eyes open, looking at Harry through a fog of lust and alcohol-induced haze as his mind yelled at him. 

He felt a hand settle on his hip, the other one wrap around his arm, dislodging his own hand. He moved that hand up into the unruly black hair and opened his mouth, tongue snaking out, tracing the contours and lines of Harry’s lips and he fought back a whimper of need as those green lips fluttered shut and the pink lips opened up tentatively. He tightened his grip, holding Harry’s head steady as he took charge, kissing the man he loved for all his worth. He explored Harry’s mouth once more, running along the familiar ridges and bumps, taking in the same taste, fighting back the urge to come right then and there out of the simple pleasure of being close to his lover. 

He gasped, feeling the tongue his was sliding against begin to move, caressing his own as he turned, slamming Harry against the wall, his hand cushioning the brunet’s head. The grip on his hip tightened and he felt Harry shift, legs spreading, allowing him to settle in the cradle of Harry’s thighs. 

He could feel Harry’s erection press against his own and before he knew what he was doing, he was grinding against Harry. He heard a moan, and he opened his eyes from where they had slid shut and pulled away. He looked at Harry, whose cheeks were stained red and his glasses were crooked. His mind screamed at him then, telling him to get away, leave before you get any further, and pass it off as a drunken mistake. 

However, at the same time, Harry decided to take matters into his own hand, a leg coming up to wrap around his thigh as began to grind against Draco, animalistic lust taking over and making him want more and more. Draco felt the heat emanating from Harry onto his own, teamed with that delicious friction and he closed his eyes with a cry of defeat and latched onto the scar around Harry’s neck, sucking and biting gently, knowing it was a sensitive place. He was rewarded with a moan and a low growl, the hand around his neck sliding into his hair and tugging. Draco shuddered at the bittersweet pain that came from the roots of his hair being tugged gently from his hypersensitive scalp. He moaned, pressing the brunet back against the door for all he was worth, hips moving in desperate circles. 

He felt Harry stiffen and the small half-whimper in the back of his throat sounded and Draco knew he was going to come a second before he felt warmth bloom between them. He fought to keep from coming, a desperate attempt to regain control of the situation. However, for all his mind was thirty, his body was still seventeen and it only took one more gasp, one more lust-filled sound to send him over the edge, muscles contracting, tingles of something running up and down his spine and teeth sinking into the bumpy flesh under his mouth. He moaned softly, panting as he kept his head down, eyes squeezed shut, his mind slowly coming down from his lust-induced haze and reality set in, making him nervous and jittery. 

He could feel Harry’s rapid pulse beat against his forehead and he kept his eyes close hearing the small chuckle. 

“That … was … I mean … wow,” Harry said, sounding awed. 

Draco squeezed his eyes shut and before he knew what he was doing, a whispered _Stupefy_ had Harry collapsing into his arms, eyes closed and sleeping. He felt the other man carefully, somehow getting the both of them over so he could put Harry back down in the chair. 

With one last lingering kiss against the slack lips he stood back, reaching for his wand on the desk. Looking at Harry, he closed his eyes and waved his wand, casting two cleaning spells, removing any traces. A few spells later, the kissed lips and the teeth marks along his neck were gone, leaving him looking as normal as ever. Draco leaned in closely, pressing his wand against Harry’s temple. Closing his eyes he concentrated carefully and cast the _Obliviate_ , removing the memory from Harry’s conscious mind, hiding it until Draco himself released it. 

Draco leaned back, looking at Harry sitting there sleeping, and he fought back tears as he went back around his side of the desk and sat down much like he had before and with a muttered spell, forced himself into indifference and watched as Harry slowly woke up. 

“I think that is all, Mr Potter,” he said, fighting against his voice. 

Harry looked confused for a moment before the frown cleared, and he nodded. “Thank you, Professor.”

Draco nodded. “Have a nice night.”

Draco watched as Harry turned and walked out the door. He waited until the door was closed and then grabbed the first sheet of parchment he could find. He wrote a short note, folding it and sending it to Dumbledore before he dropped his head into his hands and for the second time this year, cried. 

_**We’re done, we’re done with Hogwarts.** _

_That is what usually happens when one leaves, you know._

_**I know that, you prat. But I mean. We’re done, seven years of schooling, and it was over with a smile, a handshake and a quick photo. It makes it seem meaningless. Like it was only a moment in time, a short breath from Father Time’s mouth, a simple blink.** _

_You’ve been drinking._

_**No! That’s silly. I only had a couple glasses of the punch.** _

_It was spiked._

_**Really? Wonder who did that. Bet it was … ouchy. It hurt me, kiss me and make it better! I mean, kiss it!** _

_I don’t even know who you are._

_**I’m … ouchy. I have … ouchy … I like to drink punch. The red punch is good, yummy yummy. You shouldn’t eat the yellow snow.** _

_I’ll keep that in mind for the future. Meanwhile, find one of your dormmates and get him to help you because I think you’re going to puke soon._

_**No, I’m not! Don’t be silly. I am perfectly fine! Really I am. Maybe maybe, baby baby, I might be drunk. I was born on … ouchy.** _

_Go to bed. You’ll regret this in the morning._

_**It erases it all! It goes away! Bye bye birdy. Bye, bye, bye. I think I’m happy now!** _

_You can go back and read on it. Just write the date and then the word _read_ after it. He explained it in last class. _

_**Class, class, classy class ,class. I’m not classy. I fall over everything and I’m always bruises. Are you classy?** _

_Yes. Now, bed, now._

_**I think you’re pretty.** _

_You don’t even know what I look like._

_**I think I’m gay. Can we kiss?** _

_You’re drunk._

_**M’not drunk, wanna kiss you!** _

_Go to bed, we’ll talk tomorrow._

_**Night Alex! I love you Alexy, Alex, Alex!** _

_Night, Robin. Drink Coffee in the morning. The caffeine helps._

_**Okie dokie, Alex ponikey. I love you!** _

 

 **Part 13;**

**_1997_ **

Draco watched from a distance, his hood covering his face as his younger self received the mark, the cry of pain echoing throughout the hallway. He kept his eyes open, watching the look of disbelief and horror cross the younger version’s face as he looked at the tattoo branded into his arm and crawling with dark glee up in arm, the winding snake undulating within the presence of its master. 

He turned, eyes sweeping over the other students already there; Blaise looking smug as he ran reverent fingers along his mark, his eyes sliding closed in bliss as Voldemort hissed, talking to Nagini, asking for the next inductee. He watched as Hannah Abbott stepped forward, the usually calm and happy brown eyes hardened and a mechanical grin crossed her face as she kneeled and prostrated herself before the Dark Lord. 

He shuddered when Voldemort laughed, a hissing sound that sent shivers down his spine and froze his insides slightly, making him feel as if he was never going to be warm again. He felt a slight breeze ruffling his hair and he drew his hood up and stepped back, leaning against a grand oak, hiding in the shadows, his hair, once more telltale blond, likely to be a lighthouse in the sea of black. 

He wrapped his cloak tighter around himself as he watched Anthony Goldstein moved forward and bow low, maniacal laughter filling the air as the mark was burned onto his skin. Draco shuddered and turned away, unable to handle anymore of this as the line grew smaller, and his ranks grew larger. 

He gripped the Portkey in his hand, waiting for it to activate and drag him away from this war, from this horrible existence he was living, in hopes that he would once more be able to live with Harry. He felt a tugging sensation behind his navel before the world was a blur of colours and sounds and he was deposited into a parcel of land he had bought. 

Having Malfoy blood had always been helpful, even in this time and age. He looked around at the barren landscape and the small house in the middle of it and sighed. This was his life. 

_**We’re going to keep track of each other right? Once a month for now, maybe we can talk more.** _

_I hope so, I’m going to miss the nightly chats._

_**Maybe we’ll be lucky and be able to keep it up.** _

_I hope so. I really do._

**_1998_ **

Draco woke with a groan, a sheaf of paper sticking to his cheek as he sat up, gingerly pulling it off and looking at the flashing red lights of the clock above his desk. 4:32 in the morning. He sighed, dropping his head into his hands and rubbing at his eyes. He pressed his fingertips against his eyes until he could see colours flashing in his mind’s eye and he leaned back, fingers moving up to his temple to press against it, rubbing, hoping to ignore the headache that was beginning to grow. 

He opened his eyes, looking over the formulas and lists of what he was working at the time. He dropped a hand to run over the smeared ink on the paper that had been stuck to his cheek. He grimaced at the sight of the pale flesh, unused to his own skin colour after so many years of being this Mr. Alejandro Santiago D’Arcangelo. He closed his eyes and waved his wand, sighing as the familiar magical weight of the glamour settled across his shoulders and he opened his eyes, taking in the tanned flesh with a small smile. 

“Alejandro!” a voice called out and he flinched, moving to stand up, shuffling the papers together quickly, hiding his notes from view.

He opened a door and slammed it shut in time for the door to his office open, and he looked up with a smile, looking at his fellow teacher.

“Isn’t it a little late for you to be up, Cooper?” he asked, taking on the slight Italian accent he had adopted a year ago. 

“The same could be said of you. What are you still doing here?” Cooper asked, leaning against the doorframe. 

Draco pushed back, his feet coming up to rest against the desk, hands folded across his abdomen. “Finishing the grading for the midterms so the students can have them again tomorrow.”

“It is your fault for creating such a long midterm. How long was it this time?” 

“Three hundred questions,” Draco replied with a smirk. “I have a three-hour long class, three times a week; it was going to be a big mid-term.” 

Cooper sighed and rolled his eyes. “Fine, lock up when you’re done, right?”

Draco nodded. “Alright.”

Cooper nodded and turned to leave, shaking his head. Draco waited for the sounds of the door closing before he relaxed. He dropped his head back, looking at the ceiling, unable to believe it had been two years since he had last seen Harry. He had lasted three weeks at the small house in the middle of nowhere before he had gone crazy. He ended up recreating the degree he held in the future, in Chemistry, and getting a job teaching at a local university. 

A year and a half later, and although he liked it, he wanted to leave, explore, learn new things. He was going to do that as soon as he had perfected a glamour, one that would be removed with a simple spell. He thought he was close; he just needed to test the latest invention. He sighed and closed his eyes, evoking a memory of Harry smiling at him, talking over some inane thing. He dropped his feet back down to the floor and leaned forward, grabbing the stack of papers to finish the grading. 

_**Alex? Are you there?** _

**_2000_ **

Draco pressed his fingers against his face, leaning forward, looking at his reflection with a sigh. The familiar façade of Alejandro looked back at him. Grabbing his wand, he waved it, muttering the canceling spell and leaned down, cupping some water in his palm and splashing his face, the cool water refreshing him in the heat that came with being in Egypt in the middle of summer. He grabbed a towel, eyes closed and raised his head, pressing the towel against his face and breathing in deeply before beginning to scrub his face, drying it. 

He removed it and looked in the mirror.

His mouth dropped open. He stared in shock for a moment before he leaned forward, fingers reaching out to touch the glass, tracing his face before he suddenly fumbled for his wand. Knocking it of off the sink, he managed to catch it before it hit the floor. Standing up, he pointed the want at himself and muttered the counter to the glamour, and again when it didn’t work. He repeated it, Merlin knows how many times, trying to get it to work. 

Five minutes later, he threw the wand down in anger, leaning forward, fingers pressing against his skin, taking in the new changes. 

His eyes, and the shape of his face were the same, his hair was the same too-blond, almost white, colour it had always been. But this skin … his skin was darker, tanner, like the pale skin he had grown up with had never faded. It wasn’t as dark as the disguise, but it was close, getting there, and Draco felt anger and confusion and worry build up inside of him. 

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, hoping his lack of any decent sleep in the past three years had something to do with it, but when he opened his eyes, he looked the same. Pale blonde hair, bright gray, almost blue eyes, slim nose, high cheekbones, pink lips and darker skin. 

He took one look at himself before his legs buckled and he slid down to the floor, hands covering his eyes as he fought not to laugh or cry. He settled instead for a sob that came out amidst a round of giggles, certain he was losing his mind. He had finally lost it. 

He lay down on the floor, an arm thrown across his face as his mind raced through all possible reasons it was like this. There had to be a solution to this. He had always liked the way he had looked, his pale skin, flawless, so different from everyone else’s. It made him stand out, made him unique. People could always tell who he was and what family he was from. 

Now he looked like one of the California or Florida surfer people he had taught in college. Tanned skin with hair bleached blond from too many years spent in the sun and the sea. He didn’t like it. It looked odd against the sharpness of his cheeks, nose and chin. He looked fake, like some cheap, trashy whore with a fake tan. 

He had to fix this; this was not him. 

_Robin. I … I don’t even know if you are there. But, Merlin, I made a mistake. A big one. I want to take it back, but I can’t. I’m stuck. I’m sure you don’t even look at this now. I needed to hide it, make sure they didn’t see it. They didn’t. I don’t want them to see everything I’ve written. It would be bad … I hope you still look at this. I need help. I ... I don’t want to die._

_**Alex? I … what’s wrong?** _

_Oh, Merlin, you’re actually there._

_**I … uhhh ... check once a week to make sure and well … you lucked out, I guess. But what’s wrong?** _

_I messed up. I messed up bad. I didn’t mean to do this, but I did and I don’t know what to do. They’re going to hurt me, I know they are. They’ll kill me._

_**That doesn’t sound like … ouch … so it must mean …** _

_You’re probably right. I don’t know what to do. I messed up, I messed up badly._

_**Switch, I’ll help.** _

_I can’t. They’ll kill me as well._

_**No, they won’t. Do it. Find one and do it. Say Robin sent you, so I know who you are.** _

_You’re going to hate me._

_**We’ll find out.** _

 

**_2002_ **

 

Draco ducked, running to catch up with the Aborigines that were ahead of them, their spearheads glinting in the sunlight. He panted, feeling sunlight and sweat caress his brow. He had been out here for some time already, and they were no closer to the center, where the magical heart of this tribe sat, hidden deep in the plains of Australia. 

He was tired; he could feel the muscles in his legs burning from running so much over the course of the day. He had been woken up at five, before the weak sunlight had even begun to shine through the overcast of clouds. They had burnt off quickly, the overheated sun shining through in small rays at first before growing in size and intensity until waves of heat rose up from the ground, creating air that shimmered and burned. 

Draco could see the ground up ahead, grinding to a halt in front of a small patch of trees that seemed to be no bigger than the Great Hall, and yet it was covered in green leaves. He could hear the sound of the kookaburra in one of the gum trees, and in the distance, he saw a kangaroo jumping towards the forest, a smaller one behind, attempting to catch up. 

Draco pulled to a stop next to the group that had been selected to guide him to the magical heart. He could feel cool air blow out from the forest, wrapping around him and chilling him down. He looked at the leader of the ground. 

“Is this it?” Draco asked, stepping closer, feeling calmer and less poignant than he had in a long time. 

The leader nodded. “Go through the forest, in the center you shall find it. We shall wait.”

Draco nodded and took a step forward, a hand reaching out to push away the first branch, when a hand on his arm stopped him and he turned, looking at one of the younger men, who looked oddly like Harry did, with tanned skin. He swallowed and raised an eyebrow. 

“Do not let the image deceive you, hidden one, for they will only make it harder. What you see is not real,” the aborigine said, before he took a step back, melting into the group. 

Draco looked at them and then back at the forest, steeling himself before stepping inside, letting the fronds of the fern snap back around him. Suddenly the heat from outside was gone, in place a cool air that made him wish he had something warmer on than a pair of shorts and a muscle tank. 

He took another step forward and the first image assaulted him. He watched in horror as Harry’s neck was sliced. Only this time instead of stopping at the spine, it cut all the way through, the savior's head falling to the ground, blood pooling onto the ground where his body had fallen. Harry’s eyes were wide in shock and pain and his eyes slid shut, covering those green. 

Draco dropped to the ground and puked, unable to keep anything in his stomach after seeing that sight. He kept his eyes closed, forehead resting against his hands for a moment before he sat up, keeping his eyes closed. He swallowed again, ignoring the vile taste in his mouth and stood up. Opening his eyes, he took a step forward and braced himself before beginning to run. A few steps into the run another image flashed into his mind, of Harry sleeping with another man and enjoying it. 

Another three steps and an image of Harry turning away from him, hating him for being this Professor, this hated professor who had taken advantage of him and had then erased his memory. He swallowed, the tears flowing freely down his face as his heart continued to break into smaller and smaller pieces, unable to handle the onslaught of images and words, all displaying his deepest worries and fears before him in detail and clarity. 

He kept on running, ignoring the tears in his eyes and the pain in his body as leaves and branches snapped past his face, slicing and grazing his skin, leaving blood and bruises in their wake. He stumbled, but was unable to keep his balance and he came crashing down, his hands breaking his fall and sending a jarring pain into his shoulders and arms. He winced, collapsing onto the ground, arms coming under his head and he curled into a ball and cried, unable to handle anything more. 

He shook his head from side to side as the last fear played out in his mind, ending with Harry dead by his own hand. It was too hard. He wanted to stay here, away from the pain, away from the almost certainty that was going to come with him returning. Who was to say that none of that would happen, that none of those fears and worries were going to end up true, and he was going to be alone, alone after thirteen years of waiting, waiting for one man. 

He broke out into sobs and sat up, prepared to go deeper, to head towards the heart and give his life to the magic, unable to bear the millions of pieces that his heart had split into, each one of them hurting, throbbing with pain. Each feeling as if his heart was going to burst from his chest and shower everyone with the bits and pieces of the man that was once Draco Malfoy. 

He stood up, hands braced on his knees to aide him. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the onslaught of more fears and worries to come and opened his eyes. 

He gasped. 

Somehow, he had reached the middle, if the pulsing blue orb in front of him was anything to go by. It looked like a circle of something, but it was pulsating, dancing, every square inch of its surface moving in different beats. The tears and pain were forgotten as he stepped forward, a hand outstretched, reaching toward the blue light, wanting it to control him, wanting it to take over his life and make him its slave. He wanted to bow down to the majesty of it all, and stay down, wanted to revel in the beauty. 

He took another step forward, fingers almost touching one of the tendrils of light that seemed to stretch out from the ball, forming a hand. He took another step forward and that hand, that blue hand of the most beautiful thing he had ever seen wrapped around his own, entwining their fingers and suddenly the light burst, changing to green. A green that was so familiar, and yet he couldn’t remember anything. It was fuzzy, a smile there, a flash of something dark there. 

He frowned, the nagging feeling in his chest and his mind wanting him to remember, but the hand felt so good, he could feel the tendrils slipping, and he grasped them tighter, never wanting to let go of the bliss that had infused his body. He didn’t care. He wanted to be here for eternity, to stay here and just wallow and absorb the brightness he could feel around him. 

He took another step forward, hands tightening around the last tendril of the green light. He could feel it wiggling, almost as if it were a real thing and not just something made of magic. He tightened his grip, his knuckles whitening, wanting to hold onto the bliss that was slowly leaving his body. He couldn’t, though, and he watched, helplessly, as it slipped through his fingers and the bliss was gone, leaving only cold detachment in its wake and a hundred memories of pain and Harry. 

He collapsed to his knees, tired beyond all belief, face in his hands as he began to cry, silent tears leaking out of his eyes to land into little puddles on his hands. He heard steps, but he didn’t look up. He jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder, and he lifted his head, hands dropping to the ground in shock and allowing the pooled tears to fall into the ground as he looked into the face of the aborigine who had warned him. 

“It is over,” the man said with a smile. “You made it through. You are strong, and that shall guide you.”

Draco looked around at the desert, the cool wind and the sound of the kookaburra gone, leaving silence and heat in its wake. He looked on the horizon, seeing the rising sun before looking back at the guide. “I hope so.”

_Robin, Harry. I need to talk to you now. There is going to be an attack on Hogsmeade tonight at midnight. My father and aunt are going to be heading it. I’m going to be there. I’ll meet you in Honeydukes. I have another one; it was in my father's study. I need to give it to you before he finds it missing._

_**I’ll meet you there. I miss you love.** _

_I miss you too. Soon, hopefully soon, love, and we can spend some time together. I have time next week._

_**Merlin, I can’t. I’ve got training. We caught a whisper of Professor D’Arcangelo, and we’re hoping he would come and fight for us. I hope we find out who he is soon. We need him to help.** _

_There is no one here like that. He has got to be independent right now._

_**I can hope. I wonder if he even exists.** _

_He might not, but, by Merlin, I hope he does. Merlin, that man was hot._

_**Hotter than me?** _

_Not even close, but he was hot nonetheless._

_**Good, I’d hate to think I’d been replaced. I was reading out old conversations the other day, and you hated him. Never let me know you liked him, Alex.** _

_Of course not, especially when you freaked out when you found out I was gay._

_**But Merlin, the things you said the next time. Makes me hot even now.** _

_Merlin, Robin, stop doing this to me. I’ve got a meeting in an hour._

_**Just enough time for me to get you off. I wonder how many times we’ve had to clean the stains off these books.** _

_Merlin, how can you blush when we are together, but write like this? Write erotic novels after the war. You’ll be famous._

_**They’ll all want to meet me, my muse. See him spread out across a silver and green duvet, cheeks flushed and hair a mess, covered in sweat, spunk and lube. Watch as he wraps slender fingers under his knees and draws himself up, opening himself and begging for more with little gasps and whimpers and moans. Moaning loudly as I slide back inside, barely a few minutes after the first time.** _

_Fuck, Harry. No more, I need you now. Fuck it all, let’s meet. Now._

_**Can’t, babe, just use your own fingers and send me the memory.** _

_You are a pervert._

_**No one to blame but you.** _

_By Merlin, I love it._

**_2007_ **

Draco dodged a kick that came his way before grabbing the man’s fist as it slammed towards his face, twisting his own arm, the man flipping over his hip and down to the ground. He twisted the man’s arm up and behind his back, kneeling down quickly on the hand, holding it in place with his knee before grabbing the man’s hair and yanking up, bending his back at an impossible angle. 

“Yield! I yield!” the man below him cried out. 

Draco managed a small smile and let go of the dark hair and stood up, holding a hand out to help the man. “Good show, Ryu,” he said with a smile to the small Japanese man who was glaring at him. 

“Yes, well, I stand by the fact you are three inches taller than me and a couple of pounds heavier,” Ryu said, his dark almond shaped eyed shining with mirth. 

“No, you’re just that good of a teacher,” Draco teased.

Ryu blushed slightly. “Alejandro, don’t flatter me. People would be under the impression you actually like someone.”

Draco rolling his eyes, running a hand through the short hair he had adopted during his stay in Japan. The colour was darker, just like his skin, the glamour seeming to take over his colouring permanently. He no longer had any need for the glamour spell, with the darkened of his skin and hair, and the addition of more blue into his eyes. He no longer looked like the Draco from childhood. He was someone new, someone who had no past, and could be anything in the future.

“Consider yourself lucky then,” Draco shot back. 

Ryu clapped him on the shoulder. “I am lucky, I have the prettiest girl in the entire country, a few good friends, and an excellent student who actually wants to learn.”

Draco managed a smile. “You flatter me now. Be careful. Your students might think you are nice.”

Ryu slapped him across the back of his head and Draco ducked, the hand whizzing over his head, brushing the tips of his hair. Ryu chuckled and Draco rolled his eyes as he stood up straight. “I’m going to go.”

“Men’s night?” Ryu asked.

Draco shook his head. “You know I don’t date.”

“You must sleep with people,” Ryu said. “Good way of getting rid of stress.”

Draco shook his head. “I don’t sleep around.”

He had tried it once, began to kiss another man he had met at a club and he had felt sick. Sick enough that he had run to the bathroom and vomited up everything that he had tried to eat that day into the toilet. He had ended up leaving the man without an explanation. Just walked out to curl up into his own bed alone, feeling sick to the stomach and guilty for cheating on Harry. 

Ryu frowned. “A boyfriend, perhaps? Back in England, eh?”

Draco shook his head. “No, not anymore.”

Ryu looked thoughtful before nodding in understanding. “A bad break up, then? I know just the trick. Come and have some drinks with us, get your mind off whomever was stupid enough to let you go and it will all be fine.”

Draco shook his head, the good mood from before vanishing. “No, I need to pack. I leave at the end of this week, remember?”

Ryu looked sad, but nodded. “I forgot. Where are you going now?”

“India, and to South America, Brazil mostly, and then home to England,” Draco replied.

“You’ll write, right?”

“Of course,” Draco said, knowing he wouldn’t. It was easier this way. Stay in different places for a few months, leave and sever all contact. Getting close to people only ended up hurting you more in the long run. His heart was already in two pieces. He couldn’t afford to scatter more pieces around.

Ryu smiled. “I’ll hunt you down if you don’t.”

Draco managed a weak chuckle. “Of that I have no doubt.”

_**Draco, meet me in the bedroom now.** _

_Impatient, love?_

_**Merlin, you look hot. No more wearing a robe to Order meetings, hair mussed, claiming you just ‘woke up’ even though you’ve been up since six this morning, your chest peaking out through the vee of the robe. You’re naked under there, aren’t you?** _

_But, of course._

_**You. Me. Bedroom. NOW!** _

**Part 14;**

_Night before the final battle_

Draco slipped through the rows of tents, the layout as clear in his mind as if he had only been here a day ago, not twelve years. He ducked into an alley, hidden in the shadows, as two people walked by him, not noticing him or ignoring him. He waited until their footsteps faded before stepping out and into the tent with the Order’s insignia on the front. 

He looked at Dumbledore, sitting, reading over something, older than he had last seen him. He cleared his throat and waited for Dumbledore to notice him. The old man jumped slightly at the sound and, in an instant, Draco had a wand pointed at him. 

“Who are you?” Dumbledore asked, voice steady, even as his hand shook with age. 

Draco pushed back his hood. “It’s me, be quiet.”

Dumbledore seemed to relax. “Professor D’Arcangelo.”

Draco nodded. “And someone else if you remember correctly.”

“Which I do. Now what do you need? It’s been some time, my boy.”

Draco pushed up the sleeve of his cloak, showing the Dark mark that had been branded into his arm less than a fortnight ago. “I want my other mark,” he said simply. 

Dumbledore’s features had shuttered and closed. “What are you talking about?”

Draco sighed. “You know who I am, what I do. I’m trying to get the marks back. I feel odd without them. I just need the spy tattoo on my shoulder again, please.”

Dumbledore stood up. “For what reason. Would it not be better for you to become someone new?”

Draco shook his head. “I tried. I tried to be someone different, but it didn’t work. I can’t be cold like my father is, and I can’t be open and warm and honest with everyone like Harry is. I can only be me, and what defines me.”

Dumbledore pursed his lips. “I am unsure of this.”

Draco looked at Dumbledore. “Don’t make me beg, please,” he whispered. 

That seemed to change Dumbledore’s mind and he nodded. “Are you willing to fight in the final battle?”

Draco shook his head. “I already have fought more than anyone should. I’m just waiting for the end, so I can be with Harry again.”

Dumbledore managed a small smile. “Without the glamour, I presume.”

Draco frowned and shook his head raising a hand to run it over the tanned skin and darker hair. “I cannot change it. Wearing a glamour for so long has caused it to sink in, mixing with my genetic make-up and creating this. Trust me, I tried to reverse it, but I can’t. After the war, I’m going to try my own, original colouring, and see if it changes again. I hope it does,” he said, pulling out a strand of light brown hair with a sigh. 

“That will make it harder for Harry to accept you. He won’t believe it.”

“Ron knows. He’s always known, since his seventh year. He’ll help me,” Draco murmured, missing the look of surprise on Dumbledore’s face. 

Silence fell between them and Draco fought not to fidget nervously. He had forgotten how intense those blue eyes could get when they were trying to read your soul. 

“Very well. I shall give you the mark again.”

_Why do we still write in these?_

_**Nostalgia.** _

_It can’t be that. We’re in the same room, lying next to other in the same bed after sex._

_**Perhaps it allows us to be more in tune with our inner child and allows us to say things we want to say out loud but are scared to.** _

_Spent the day with Hermione?_

_**Yeah.** _

_That explains it. But, oddly enough it does make sense. After all, I told you I loved you in this book._

_**I told you I was gay and wanted to kiss you.** _

_I remember that, a long time ago._

_**Alex … can you do something for me?** _

_What?_

_**Don’t fight in the final battle, please. I can barely think straight when you are in danger. Please don’t.** _

_Don’t ask me to do that, Robin. Do not make me leave you alone. What if you died and I didn’t? Where would that leave me?_

_**I’m not going to die. I swear on my parent's grave I will come back to you.** _

_Don’t ask this of me._

_**Please, Draco, don’t make me beg.** _

_Don’t … Harry, please, no._

_**Please.** _

_I … I … don’t make me._

**Part 15;**

Draco stood, hidden in the trees watching as the battle raged before him. It was today. It was finally today. Today, he could come home to Harry and see him. He could be loved again. He hoped he could be loved again. He had been gone for thirteen years, hadn’t seen the brunet for thirteen years, and Merlin, the man was still as beautiful as ever. The once rounded lines of his childhood had hardened, along with his body, all the training and battles creating a lean, strong-minded, brilliant man. 

And he could be Draco’s once more. 

He stared at the battlefield, wondering where his empathy had gone to as he watched people he knew, people he grew up with and taught, being killed from right to left. He saw his father fall, dead, followed by his aunt, her arms stretched out towards the Dark Lord. Draco shivered. Thirteen years had not been long enough to never see the man again. He could live three lives and still shiver at the mere sight of the man. He was grotesque, twisted flesh and melted bones. He was standing up, a snake coiled around his legs and lower torso hissing as it served to add strength to her master. 

Draco watched in satisfaction as Harry cast the final curse at Voldemort and the man fell into a smoking pile of robes and melted flesh and bones. He watched as, at once, the rest of the Death Eaters collapsed to the ground, hands on their arms and their life slowly draining until they were nothing more than squibs. He felt a twinge in his own arm, but ignored it, knowing that the mark on his shoulder overrode the dark mark, making it impossible for Voldemort to drag him down with him. 

He watched Harry, eyes following the brunet as he stepped forward, making sure Voldemort was dead before turning and breaking into a fast run, heading for where Draco knew his other self was. He watched the dark hair and red robes vanish into the dusk before looking back on the field, watching as the Order began to tend to the wounded and separate the two groups, throwing the Death Eaters into a pile to be buried, uncaring of the way they landed. They placed their own in careful rows, making sure that they were dead and not stunned or under a draught of living death or something like that. 

He turned to the left and watched as Harry and his other self walked back into the battlefield. He watched himself stumble and he saw Harry turn and glance at him before turning around, wand helping his other self to walk towards where the bodies were laying in a macabre fashion. 

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed; he knew the sun was gone, replaced by the moon and hundreds of little globes of light, floating above the battlefield. He was reminded of his time in Australia as he looked at the circles of light, hovering there, beckoning him closer. He took a step out from the shadows of the tree, his hood still drawn up over his face, protecting him from being seen. 

He looked towards where the small group was standing and talking, and he began to get nervous. Looking around at the bodies, he looked for any sign of movement, any sort of indication that someone had come forth. It was late, later than he remembered. He had studied his memory of this moment for a long time, and it was too late. This was not going the way it was supposed to. He was supposed to take that Draco’s place and be happy, as happy as he could be.

His feet began to move, drawing him closer to the small huddle of people. He could see Ron look over his shoulder at him, anger and mistrust in his eyes. Draco shook his head, pushing the hood back slightly and stopped a little ways away. Ron looked at him before blinking and turning away, as cool as anything. 

Draco waited. He could see Ron getting nervous and fingering his wand. He wanted it to happen, he wanted his Harry, and he wanted to _be_ with Harry. He had spent thirteen years waiting for this moment, and he was damned if his Harry wasn’t going to come back to him. He looked down at his hands and watched in horror as they seemed to fade in and out for a moment. He grabbed his wand, fully intent on casting the spell himself when he noticed Ron had grabbed his wand and, in a split second, had it pointed at Draco. 

“ _Sectumsempra_!”

Ron’s voice echoed throughout the now silent battlefield, and he watched in horror as his body sunk to the ground, blood gushing from his wounds. He could see Harry looking at the blood-covered Ron in shock before the other Draco coughed, blood spilling over his chin, and his anger was forgotten, replaced by worry. He watched as Ron was stupefied, collapsing to the ground, someone on him in an instant, fists flying, and he knew he had to stop it. 

“Stop! Put him in the fairy ring. It’ll heal him,” he said, striding forward, the hood still pulled low over his head. 

He saw Harry raise tear-filled green eyes. “He’ll leave.”

“He’ll come back,” he promised. “It’s the only way.”

He could see Harry looking at him in mistrust for a moment before the man nodded, and suddenly he watched himself being drawn up, cradled against Harry’s chest, pale, and blood-covered. He watched as his forehead was kissed and Harry whispered something to him before dropping him to the ground. Draco watched in fascination as his body touched the ground and was gone in an instant. 

The field was silent except for a steady thump-thump that had Draco confused until he turned to see someone whose name he couldn’t remember punching Ron again and again, his face already a mass of cut skin and blood. Draco strode forward, grabbed the man’s arm and used all of his strength to yank him off, dodging as the man aimed a punch towards him. 

Bringing his knee up, he managed to catch the man in the groin, and he went down with a cry of pain. Ignoring the whimpering man, he turned, pulling out his wand and dropping to his knees next to Ron, casting healing spell after healing spell, watching as flesh mended and his nose straightened out from where it had been a pulp. Casting a cleaning spell to make sure he had got everything, he was pleased when there were only a few bruises left that were probably from the battle. 

“ _Ennervate_ ,” he said, watching as Ron’s eyes fluttered open with a groan. 

Draco opened his mouth to say something to Ron, but he felt a wand pressed against the back of his neck. He stiffened, unused to this level of hostility after so many years of peace. 

“Stand up,” he heard Harry growl. “And drop your wand.”

Draco dropped his wand to the ground, hands raised as he stood up slowly and turned, keeping his face hidden in the shadow of his cloak as he faced Harry who was shaking with rage, a wand still pointed at him. Draco swallowed as he watched Harry struggle to find words. 

“Why did you heal him?” Harry managed to ask through clenched teeth. “He deserved it. He hurt _my Draco_!”

Draco winced from the force of the words and took a deep breath. “Your Draco needed to be hurt, needed to be thrown into that ring.”

“No, he didn’t! And you said he would come back! Well? Where the hell is he!” Harry demanded. 

“Harry,” he said soothingly. “Remember your seventh year, remember one of your teachers? Someone who made you write in a book, all year long? Remember what he told the students?”

Harry blinked, confused for a moment before his mouth dropped open, and his hand began to shake, dropping slightly. “H-he was from the future …” Harry said in a whisper, unable to believe it. 

He heard movement behind him before he felt a hand rest on his shoulder, and he turned slightly seeing Ron standing there, stoic and obviously in pain.

“Yeah mate, Draco became Professor D’Arcangelo,” Ron got out through clenched teeth. “I found out when you got hurt, that neck thing. He’s the one that saved you, mate, using the soul-sharing spell he discovered a few years back. I managed to convince him not to _Obliviate_ me like the rest of you.”

Harry’s mouth had dropped open in shock and disbelief. The man who Draco had kneed in the groin earlier was standing, a similar look of disbelief on his face. He watched the two of them turn towards him, asking for confirmation. 

Draco swallowed and nodded his head slowly. “He needed to be sent, injured into that place. Ron knew this, and so he cast the spell. Trust me, you might not like it, but it is needed.”

Harry seemed to gain control of himself, even as the other man collapsed back to the ground, confused. Draco could see the green eyes on him, looking slightly confused. “You said he would come back. You’re him, aren’t you?”

Draco managed a small smile at Harry’s intelligence, but his voice remained somber. “Harry ... you’re right but … I’ve changed. There is no way to send someone this far into the future. I’ve had to wait my time.”

Harry stood a step forward. “I don’t care, we’ll manage alright.”

Draco bit his lip and sighed. “That's not the only thing,” he whispered. 

Harry frowned. “What?”

“I’ve been under a glamour for the past thirteen years,” Draco began.

“So, remove it,” Harry interrupted.

“I discovered something in that time,” Draco said softly. 

He could see Harry frowning, and he wrapped his arms around his own body, as if a chill was in the air. “What?” his love whispered softly. 

“Glamours, they—" he said, stopping and biting his lip again. He took a deep breath and tried again. “When they are … used for long periods of time without … removal something happens.”

Harry’s eyes became hooded and lines formed as he frowned. “What changes, Draco? What’s going on?”

Draco took a deep breath. “Harry, I don’t look the same anymore. I’m different,” he said, pushing back his hood, showing the darkness of his skin, tanned and looking rougher than before, his no longer white hair, instead dirty blond, light brown almost, and his hazel eyes, brown with a few flecks of gray and blue as a reminder of what they once were. 

He could see shock pass over Harry’s features and the man took a step back, almost stumbling over someone’s arm lying on the ground. Draco swallowed, pain entering his heart, beginning to tear it apart once more as his arms around himself tightened, holding himself close so he wouldn’t fall apart. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, looking down at the ground, knowing Harry probably hated his appearance as much as he did himself. 

He felt a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently, and he knew without looking it was Ron, offering his steadfast support and reassurance. He braced himself for the rejection and the pain, figuring it was well and truly over. It wasn’t like he wasn’t ready for this. Thirteen years had allowed the pain to fade, and he was sure more of it would fade over more time. He just needed to stay away. He breathed deeply, preparing to turn and walk away. 

He made as if to turn, Ron’s hand falling away at the movement, when suddenly a hand grabbed his arm and spun him around, causing him to lose balance and stumble against a hard chest. His brain barely had time to process this information before lips were covering his own and a hand was buried in his hair. 

He stood still for a moment, shocked, before his arms came to wrap around Harry’s neck, drawing him closer and kissing him for all he was worth. He opened his mouth at the brunet’s insistence, and he felt the slick tongue enter. He whimpered, too long without the taste of apples and oranges that told him that this was Harry, this was his Harry and it was fine. 

He felt a hand settle over his hip, thumb pressing into the crease made by his hipbone and he smiled, the familiar gesture made that much better by years of being alone. He winced as the hand tightened, the tattoo he had got a few weeks ago preparing for this time stinging, but he ignored it, relishing the pain, knowing he was awake and finally home. 

He felt the hand in hair drop down, wrapping around his shoulder and holding him close. Draco was glad, the weakness in his knees telling him he was going to collapse soon. Eventually, the two of them split, gasping for breath and foreheads resting against each other. Draco kept his eyes closed, a hand curling into the Auror robes and holding tightly, never wanting to let go again. He felt Harry press a kiss against his forehead. 

“I love you, no matter how you look,” Harry whispered and Draco felt joy burst through every pore in his body as he snuggled against Harry. 

“We might be able to change it back, if I wear a glamour of my old self,” Draco said in barely a whisper. 

He felt another kiss being pressed against his forehead. “I’m fine with the way you are, but we can try if you want,” Harry whispered. 

“Let’s,” Draco said, missing the way he used to look. 

The two of them remained silent for some time before Harry chuckled. “So you were our Professor, then?”

Draco smiled. “Yeah, it was interesting. You were all so young.”

“Bet it was. You know, I had the biggest crush on D’Arcangelo,” Harry admitted. 

Draco grinned. “I know, you kissed him—me, and it escalated from there to a little bit of dry humping, right after you asked me if you were gay or not.”

Harry was silent for a moment. “How come I don’t remember it?”

Draco sobered. “I _Oblivated_ you. I did that to a lot of people, even myself. I ended up erasing most of my seventh year with that one—that’s why I don’t remember a lot of things.”

Harry fell silent for a few moments before he shrugged. “I understand. I really do. I don’t think I’d want to remember anyway. Otherwise from now on every time I’d see you, I’d see Professor D’Arcangelo, and I highly doubt that’s going to do anything for our sex life.”

Draco chuckled slightly. “Sex life. There is a word I haven’t thought about in a long time.”

Harry raised and eyebrow. “When was the last time you had sex?”

Draco blushed, the colour not as easily seen on his darker skin. “Thirteen years.”

Harry gaped at him before a hazy smile came onto his face. “So, I’m still your first and only?”

“Only man, remember. But, of course,” Draco replied, moving to kiss Harry gently, not sure he could ever get enough of this ever again. “I missed you,” he whispered. 

Harry merely smiled. “I love you,” he replied. 

Draco closed his eyes with a smile, leaning against Harry, uncaring of the whispers he could hear around him. He was home. 

“I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> 1] A myth states that fairy rings are doors into the fairies' world, transporting people to other places or making people appear in the same place in a different time. I also added in the healing properties instead of destructive ones.  
> [2] 16km=10 miles  
> [3] I am making a lap equal to about ¼ of a mile American, aka .4 kilometers for this story’s sake.  
> [4] My life unto you, heal, live again.


End file.
